No Expectations
by thisbluepeony
Summary: Remus Lupin is a little-known music journalist working on a little-known music magazine. Blue Stag are his next Big Project - well, his first anyway.
1. Chapter 1

"Blue Stag?"

There was every possibility Remus Lupin hadn't heard correctly. After all, it was 8 o'clock in the morning, he had not (thanks to 24's lunatic Rottweiler and 28's neurotic Yorkshire Terrier) managed to get to sleep until 4am, had skipped both breakfast and a shower in his haste to get to the office at such short notice and had, when "Blue Stag" was first mentioned, been adjusting his t-shirt, having only just realised it was on backwards.

So, yes. There was a possibility Remus had just misheard Frank Longbottom. But he hadn't.

"That's right," said Frank, taking a calm gulp from his Woodstock '69 mug.

"But they're... a rock band."

"Mm."

"I mean, a rather heavy rock band."

Frank sighed, thrusting his mug down on to the desk and slopping coffee on its matching coaster. Mess made him uncomfortable, and he shot the dark puddle an uneasy glance before turning back to Remus.

"Is there some kind of point you're trying to make here, Lupin?"

Frank only ever called him "Lupin" when he was annoyed. Like, "Lupin, I asked for a pen profile on Buddy Holly, not an account of one of your wet dreams," or, "You may know what 'demiurgic' means, Lupin, but the rest of the world bloody doesn't."

So Remus decided it was best to be reasonable. If there was one thing he'd learnt from working on Soundscape magazine under Frank Longbottom, it was to leave the sarcasm and finely-tuned cynicism for the writing.

Therefore he said in the politest tone he could muster, "It's just that I'm a bit confused. I normally cover the lighter stuff. Bit more Joni Mitchell than Jethro Tull!" Upon noticing the unimpressed look Frank was still fixing him with, he quickly added: "You usually have Benjy cover the heavier bands."

This wasn't a lie. Soundscape's workforce was very small, especially considering the fact the independent magazine barely sold outside of Gloucester, which in itself wasn't exactly the hub of music and all that was cool. Dorcas and Emmeline, childhood best friends, handled the actual production. Benjy churned out articles and reviews on rock bands past and present with all the unconcealed zeal of a Gospel writer.

Remus covered what might, if you were to walk into a record shop, be headed beneath 'Folk' or 'Blues' or, very likely, simply 'Other'. Which was fine with him; there was nothing he enjoyed more than a night in with James Taylor and Carole King, occasionally Judee Sill if he felt like going a little wild.

He certainly wasn't the type to whack on a Blue Stag record, though he was sure he'd seen one of their tour posters sticking out from behind Benjy's desk next to a Sex Pistols banner.

"If you think I'd let someone as inept and booze-abusive as Fenwick go on tour with Blue Stag," Frank snorted now, "maybe you're too stupid to handle it as well."

Remus' eyes widened. He'd _definitely_ misheard this time.

"Er - sorry, but - tour? Go on tour?"

Finally, Frank smiled. Rather priggishly, it might be added, but it was at least an improvement on the familiar frown that had been gracing his features all morning. He slipped his hands behind his back, self-satisfied and smug.

"I've been trying to get us a tour for months, you know that, and a right ballache it's been too. Atlantic finally put me in touch with a man called Moody – real fruitloop, but never mind – who _eventually_ told me I could send one of you out for a month on their next UK tour. Three-page feature on that elusive thing: 'life on the road'. I want you to do it, Remus."

He must really have wanted him to do it; he was back to "Remus".

"I don't know what to say."

Overcome with a stomach of frantic butterflies, Remus sucked in a long, laboured breath. Really, he hadn't been lying when saying he was more inclined to cover the "lighter" side of Britain's music scene. About the heaviest he ever got was Fleetwood Mac, for God's sake. And Benjy would be devastated.

"How about 'thank you, Frank, for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?'" Frank supplied, the edge back in his voice.

It wouldn't be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity if the office they were currently standing in was part of, say, Rolling Stone magazine or NME. As it was they were standing in one of three rooms which made up Frank's Soundscape offices, and therefore a one-month live-in with Blue Stag - a relatively well-established group - was an astonishingly big deal.

"Thank you," Remus said dumbly.

"Of course, it won't be so easy. I want you to do some homework before you meet them. Fenwick can help you with that. I won't have you waxing lyrical about bloody Woody Guthrie to James Potter," said Frank. Remus stared at him. "Frontman!"

"Right," Remus said quickly. "Right, yes, James Potter. Of course."

Needless to say, after the news was broken to Benjy over strong coffee and an apple turnover, the slovenly man was suitably upset at having been snubbed by his boss in favour of the less, as he described it, 'hardcore' Soundscape writer. Of course, Frank being Frank decided the best way to console the man was by saying: "You can do the next one, Fenwick, if you've learned to tell your gut from a beer barrel by then."

Still, once Benjy had overcome the betrayal and trauma of the matter enough to stop bleating "but _I_ love Blue Stag!" he reluctantly set aside morning's work to fill Remus in on a few apparently important details.

"This tour you're going on," he started, once Remus had pulled a chair up beside Benjy's chaotic desk, "is to promote their second album."

Begrudgingly, he thrust a record into Remus' face. Remus blinked at it. The charming title _Filthy Voice_ was coloured an obnoxious blue. Beneath it were four young men, all of them wearing similar menacing expressions, holding themselves in similar menacing positions; arms folded or hands thrust into the pockets of their ridiculously tight jeans, legs apart or crossed and slumped to show that they didn't even have to be prepared before kicking your arse.

Remus looked down at it with the slightest apprehension, absorbing their silly attire, their jackets and boots, Rocket to Russia only cheaper, more English, a little more contrived.

_Well_, he thought sagely, _there'll certainly be no Woody Guthrie gushing_.

Benjy jabbed a finger at the tall red-head on the far left in leather pants and coat, looking like he'd just rolled in from the world's biggest piss-up. The only thing missing was the fag burning between his fingers.

"Fabian Prewett," said Benjy, admiringly, "drummer. An insane drummer, yeah? _Insane_."

"Right. Insane."

"James Potter," Benjy went on tersely. "You _must_ know who he is?"

"Singer!" Remus answered, a little too quickly.

"And lead guitarist, yes, well done, Remus."

Benjy moved his finger from the manic, static-haired bloke wearing a wicked grin, stonewashed jeans and little else, to the dark-haired man leaning beside him. This one was dressed only slightly more conservatively in ripped black drainpipes and a white t-shirt, too small for him, barely covering his belly button, ridiculously.

"Sirius Black," said Benjy, "bass. Pretty good, kind of like John Entwistle, you know? And this one's Peter Pettigrew." He motioned to the last in the line; a short, blond fellow in a t-shirt and tie which Remus guessed was supposed to be ironic. "Rhythm guitar."

"Righto! Quite an ensemble."

"Now," said Benjy, rearing up importantly, "I suppose you need to listen to some?"

"You know, I have heard Blue Stag before, Benjy."

He let Benjy put the album on all the same. It made him feel good, Remus knew, knowing about bands the others didn't. They got a brand new cassette player in the office last summer, but Benjy vehemently denied their practicality, standing loyally by vinly, and now he was delicately adjusting the record player's needle until a song Remus didn't recognise slewed out into the office. It was a mess, all wildfire electric guitar and frantic hi-hats, a sudden smash of drums, something akin to a war cry. By the time the song was in full flow, complete with two screeching, harmonizing guitars, Dorcas had wandered over from her desk, pulling her cardigan around herself.

"Ooh, love this band," she said, picking up the record sleeve, rolling her shoulders in time with the beat. "Ed always has them on at home. They're fun."

"And _pretty_," said Emmeline, peering at the sleeve over Dorcas' shoulder. "That one with the long hair, he's lovely. So mysterious."

Benjy looked like he wanted to throw up.

"He's alright," said Dorcas, "but he plays bass, doesn't he? No one goes for the bassist, Em."

Finally Benjy snapped. He snatched the sleeve from her, hugging it to his chest like a child. "He's a bloody fine bassist actually, so just watch it." He pointed to the air. "Listen to that."

He was referring to the prominent bass line, rapid and scalic, the latest and unequivocally coolest trend in rock music, but Dorcas seemed perplexed.

"What do _you_ think?" Benjy asked exasperatedly, once the girls had wandered off to stick the kettle on.

"Very nice. I like it," Remus replied. "Good… lyrics."

Benjy rolled his eyes. "Frank told me to give you these. It's all I have at short notice."

All that Benjy had took the form of twenty odd magazines piled high and a large brown envelope stuffed with clippings. He lifted a well-thumbed Rolling Stone off the top of the stack and flicked through it, holding it open to Remus when he found a tiny feature on Blue Stag.

"Most of them are like this." He pointed to the page-long review of their debut album, headed 'A Rather Middle-Class Riot'. "I've only ever seen a couple of big features. Well, biggish. I mean, in comparison to the greats they're still just making a name for themselves. I reckon it'll be this tour which really gets people interested, though. And to think, you'll be right there with them..." Benjy trailed off. He was staring hard at the review but his eyes weren't moving.

Remus felt a sudden stab of sympathy as he looked at Benjy's copious amounts of rock memorabilia, built up like a shrine. Posters, banners, cut-outs, mugs and matching coasters, carefully preserved programs from concerts he hadn't even attended, all of it emblazoned with bearded faces, skulls and crossbones, devil horns, and whatever else their current decade had in the way of glorifying anarchy.

Remus considered his own, much less intense work space in the opposite corner. He had a neat stack of notebooks and a Snoopy calendar. Yes, he admitted, perhaps the decision to send Remus on the tour was not a fair one, but Benjy was far from reliable. Didn't he know that? If he'd been picked for the tour, it would have been obvious to anyone who knew him that he would have spent more time kissing the ground James Potter walked on than actually writing anything.

"I'm sorry about this, Ben," he said, because he felt that he should.

"S'alright," Benjy mumbled, "I get it. You work harder than me so you deserve it more than me. Just..." And then he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked like he simply wanted to tell Remus not to make an idiot out of himself. "Just get me their autographs, yeah?"

* * *

><p>It was two weeks before Remus received the crisp, severe letter summoning him to meet Alastor Moody. The band would be there, <em>and<em> their solicitor. Solicitor! That was a bit scary. Six against one, at The May Fair in London. Remus wondered if he ought to wear a suit. He'd signed papers before, of course - the tenancy agreement on his house, for one - but never had he entered into a legally binding contract stating anything beyond 'don't keep pets in the house'.

Considering also that this meeting required him to make the two-hour trip from Gloucester and back again (after all, there was no way he could afford to stay in London any longer than he had to) he wasn't best pleased. Why couldn't they come to him? Surely they had more money than he did. But no, the letter stated that he should come and he should come alone, his presence being the only thing required.

He was nervous. Slightly sick with it, even. When Frank had initially explained the tour arrangement, Remus hadn't felt much other than the excitement which always came with the prospect of meeting someone important, and it was only that evening at home when a slight unease had begun to set in. Nothing too bad though; nothing to lose sleep over.

Since, however, Remus had spent the last week poring over Benjy's magazines, listening to the two existing Blue Stag albums (he'd decided they were like hypersonic Ramones, only British and slightly more technical) and hastily gathering as much information about the band as possible, burrowing it all away like a frantic squirrel, his nerves had increased at the same rate as his knowledge.

They seemed _wild_, to say the least. All of them were twenty-five, only a year ahead Remus himself, and yet they were worlds apart from him. He'd read articles with titles like 'Blue Stag: Princes of Pandemonium' and 'Britain's Freshest Bedlamites', and in each of Benjy's magazines he'd repeatedly covered drink, drugs, groupies and, very occasionally, the music.

They hadn't thrown any TVs out of windows yet but apparently their drummer had smashed up a 1965 Ford Thunderbird using nothing but a tom-tom drum.

It didn't make Remus think they were particularly interesting. In fact, for all the sycophantic gushing journalists and indie radio show hosts did about them, Remus had the impression that Blue Stag were rather immature.

Still, he knew he was going to be intimidated by them regardless. They were public school boys who'd rebelled, cast themselves out willingly into the mean streets of London, inked their bodies and pierced their skin and smashed gorgeous, _expensive_ instruments up on stage, an act which Remus had always thought indicated an enormous amount of arrogance.

He himself hailed from the countryside, liked spiced tea and Tolkien, had even sort of _enjoyed_ school. This would not be admitted, at any cost. He wasn't an idiot.

Naturally, he arrived late at The May Fair. He was the struggling writer up in London for a meeting with the big boys; of _course_ nothing could go right. To make matters worse he felt horribly under-dressed when he stumbled through the glass doors and saw all of the beautiful people milling around the hotel foyer.

He glanced down at his own outfit of white button-down and jeans at the same time as the receptionist behind the long golden desk, and self-consciously tried to flatten his mess of unruly curls when he saw the wary look on her face. Upon his polite request for the whereabouts of the band, she directed him to the hotel bar, giving him one last look as if to say: _and you should certainly not be joining them_.

_Believe me_, he felt like saying, _I know_.

The band weren't difficult to spot. At one o'clock in the afternoon they were the only ones in the bar. Their typical get-up of clingy denim and stretched t-shirts and unfriendly boots also made them far from inconspicuous.

Remus stumbled over to the hunched man at the head of their table, clutching his letter as soom form of proof. Even from behind the man seemed rather old, and unless Blue Stag had gone for a new angle in the past week Remus was sure this was Moody. Before he could speak, the man whirled in his seat, treating Remus to a faceful of eye-patch and white scars, all of it framed by grizzly orange hair.

"Jesus," Remus stammered out before he could stop himself. He heard a harsh bark of laughter, whipped his head round in time to see the dark one - Sirius? It was Sirius, he was sure - pull a bandana away from his red eyes and grin at him.

"Best reaction he's ever had," he nodded, voice rough.

"It'll be Mr Moody to you," the hunched man growled. He jabbed Remus in the chest with one gnarled finger, as though he'd just referred to him as "Big Al" or something. "And I suppose you're the boy? The journo?"

"Yes yes, I am, I –"

"You're late."

"I know and I'm sorry, it's just I've come from –"

"Grab a pew."

Immediately transported back to his school days, Remus did as he was told, sliding hastily into the empty seat beside Moody and casting a nervous eye over the faces he had come to know well over the past week. It was bizarre to see them in the flesh, rougher, less pretty.

Potter, he noticed, was wearing dark sunglasses despite being inside. They were hungover, Remus realised with a start, and he suddenly felt like he was intruding. Still, they all managed a smile, even Fabian once he was able to drag his head out from the confines of his alarmingly large hands.

They introduced themselves as though it were necessary.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you all. I'm Remus."

"It's _very_ nice to meet you too, Remus," James said in an affected voice, sharply enough that Remus couldn't quite tell if he was only teasing.

"This is our solicitor, Mr Collyer," Moody grunted, gesturing to the man on his right. "He'll be overseeing the signing of your contract. The boys have individual lawyers, they've all agreed for him to act as their clerk, just so you're aware."

Remus nodded, bewildered. He couldn't think on it long. Moody was already launching into a speech obviously prepared in advance, althoguh as it went on it became clear this was less of a speech and more just a list of things Remus wasn't allowed to do: mentioning unreleased tracks ("material not yet suitable for the public"), mentioning groupies ("fan interaction") and mentioning drugs ("_unfortunately_ a lot of people around the boys often indulged").

"Thing is," James pitched in, "for the time being we have records to sell, people to keep happy. You get that, yeah?" He looked slightly agitated, an odd sight for someone who made a living out of being arrogant.

Remus paused. "So... you want me to lie?"

"No," Moody snarled, "just leave out the sticky bits. Think you can handle that? Nice little beat about music and the fruits of friendship, eh?"

It was then that Remus understood why a magazine like Soundscape had been allowed to do this feature in the first place. They couldn't be picky, could they? Blue Stag were doing well, progressing to stardom at a steady pace, but editors had plenty of bigger fish to keep them going. A little magazine, meanwhile, would never turn down the offer Frank had been presented with. Being given a list of do's and don't's, Remus found himself feeling completely out of control, a funny feeling for a writer.

He agreed anyway.

Collyer had him sign a contract which he said was regarding the band members' rights to privacy but really was just Remus saying he wouldn't write anything they didn't like, and they were free to omit anything they disagreed with, as long as they gave a good reason as to why it would be damaging to their image. A small voice in Remus' head told him he was being robbed of the creative control he'd tossed his parents' university dreams away for. A louder voice told him he was a wanker if he was thinking about saying no to these people for the sake of turning a blind eye to a few brawls and women.

"Excellent." Moody whipped the papers out from beneath Remus' fingers. "We'll see you in a month."

"Oh, is that it?" said Remus. He hadn't meant to sound impolite but it came out that way. Moody narrowed his eyes. _Bugger_, Remus thought, _he's sensitive._

"Goodness, I'm _sorry_. I forgot to tell you," Moody trilled, "do remember to pack your toothbrush, won't you? Come on, lads."

Standing abruptly, Moody and Collyer heaved themselves around the table, and the four men stood to follow. It was only Sirius who bothered to stick his hand out to Remus, telling him it was nice to meet him.

Remus blinked in surprise. "Nice to meet you too," he said after a moment.

It came as a rather pleasant surprise considering the fact that most of the photos he'd seen of the band rarely involved Sirius Black even coming close to a smile. From what Remus had gathered from the articles and interviews he'd been devouring, Sirius was the quietest in the group. But now he was hanging back to walk with Remus while the others charged ahead, even Moody who limped.

"Do you tour with a lot of bands then, Remus?" he asked.

"No no, this'll be a first for me."

"Really? Oh, you'll love it. Bus life's brill. You staying in London?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm off back home now."

Remus looked at him before quickly averting his eyes. Looking Sirius Black in the eye seemed somehow wrong, as though he wasn't supposed to be doing it. Maybe it would have been easier if he were wearing sunglasses too, like James.

"But you live in Gloucester, don't you?" said Sirius, surprised.

"And works there," Moody said loudly from in front of them, "so he'll be thanking you not to keep him hanging around."

As it was, Remus was simply relieved someone he was going to be spending a month with didn't seem too bothered by his presence, even if Sirius was only feigning interest in a journalist's slow life in the countryside out of politeness. He smiled at Sirius, actually managing to look him in his eyes this time. They were an enhanced blue in photographs he'd seen of him, but a stony grey in real life.

When they all gave him a final handshake, they retreated up the hotel stairs, James first, the band tailed by Moody and Collyer. Off they went to go and do whatever it was wealthy young rock stars did in 1983. Smash things up and get intoxicated, Remus assumed.

Turning, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged back out of The May Fair. He could practically feel the glittery importance which had come with being in their presence sliding off his shoulders like slime.

He wasn't jealous of Blue Stag, not even particularly in awe of them like Benjy would be. But he knew full well when he was surrounded by people who were cooler, handsomer and altogether better off than he was, and he wondered at what point in his month with them he would stop being conscious of this fact.

Pausing in the street, Remus allowed that thought to sink in and stick: two weeks ago he'd been fretting about bills, deadlines, his broken toaster, next door's moonstruck canine ambushing him thrice weekly. Now he was wandering out of The May Fair - London's May Fair - trying to decide whether or not he would ever feel comfortable in the presence of four fairly famous rock stars.

Him. Remus bloody Lupin.


	2. Chapter 2

Remus arrived by train to be with the band during their first leg of the UK tour that July. Armed with one large duffle bag and a rucksack full of notebooks and Fruit Pastilles, he felt appropriately equipped to last the month.

Haringey, the bus was stationed at. He arrived at the hotel two streets away, and Sirius said, "Hey, hey, look who's here!" and Fabian clapped him on the back, and Remus took it as a good sign. He was alarmed, slightly, upon arriving at the bus shelter to see what they'd be travelling in. It wasn't exactly one of the luxury Sleepers he'd heard about, but a converted double-decker which, judging by the finish of the renovation, the band had carried out work on themselves.

The top deck was half roofed, half open. Most of the seats had been ripped out and replaced with rather dubious looking bunks.

"They're not entirely comfortable," Peter explained when Remus dumped his bag on one. "Occasionally we actually sleep on the floor instead. Only sometimes, like."

They'd also painted huge, runny Union Jacks on the sides of the bus, just in case the sight of a dilapidated double-decker trundling down the motorway wasn't weird enough.

"My uncle used to do dirt cheap tours round London 'til he got caught up with. Then he had to get rid of the old girl," Sirius explained, patting the wall beside him lovingly. He had claimed a bunk for himself, a lower bed by the window, and had propped his guitar case up by the headboard. "We were just starting up so we asked if we could have it. She's been with us ever since. Well, why fork out for something fancy when this one's just as good?"

Why indeed, thought Remus. To have a proper bed perhaps? A seat that didn't make your arse completely numb? A bathroom wouldn't have gone amiss either, though his main concern was that the whole thing seemed completely illegal. But they set off that first day, and not once was the bus pulled over.

From the moment they left the Haringey bus shelter,_everything_ was full steam ahead, all guns blazing, no sleep for the wicked and all that. Literally, for the first few nights.

Never had there been a more hectic seven days as far as Remus was concerned. By the first Friday of the tour he'd sat through four concerts, an aggressive photo-shoot and one uproarious press conference. That was just for the sake of promoting the new record; the boys wanted to be out gallivanting every single night too, and had successfully dragged him along each time.

When they weren't travelling they insisted on visiting every shop, bar or amusement in the vicinity, so far having accumulated a set of golf clubs to play with on the open-top deck of the bus, a huge England flag which occasionally doubled as a sleeping bag, and a green ukulele James had taken to bringing on stage with him.

Remus didn't mind the constant chaos so much to begin with, even if he was the kind of person who liked to curl up with green tea and a copy of NME back at home. As the guest, and most importantly as The Journalist, he was in no position to complain.

Recording as much of Blue Stag's lifestyle as possible did prove difficult sometimes. So many people hung round with them, most of them uninvited, although he noticed there were a couple whom the boys seemed genuinely fond of; a very tall, sullen-looking bloke with dirty blond hair, and a bonny red-haired girl. Remus had assumed she was just a friend of the band until he stumbled across her and James in a rather compromising position in the otherwise empty bus one night (and was hastily told to "perhaps leave Lily out of the article, eh?")

He was often doing that, stumbling across people tangled up together. He blamed it on the lack of separate compartments in the bus. It wasn't exactly one of the luxury Sleepers he'd heard about but a converted double-decker which, judging by the finish of the renovation, the band had carried out work on themselves.

The top deck was half roofed, half open, and most of the seats had been ripped out and replaced with rather dubious looking bunks, so uncomfortable the band often opted for the floor instead. They'd also painted huge, runny Union Jacks on the sides of the bus, just in case the sight of a dilapidated double-decker trundling down the motorway wasn't weird enough.

"My uncle used to do dirt cheap tours round London 'til he got caught up with. Then he had to get rid of the old girl," Sirius had explained on the first day, patting the window beside him lovingly. "We were just starting up so we asked if we could have it. She's been with us ever since. Well, why fork out for something fancy when this one's just as good?"

Why indeed, thought Remus. To have a proper bed perhaps? And a seat that didn't make your arse completely numb? A bathroom wouldn't have gone amiss either, though his main concern was that the whole thing seemed completely illegal.

Not, of course, that he could ever get a second opinion on this. Barely anyone would speak to him, and he could only assume it was because he was the malevolent journalist, brimming with spiteful intentions.

Even Peter, who had warmed to Remus somewhat since their first meeting, seemed a little wary around him. James acted downright suspicious; when he didn't have anything better to do he often took to asking Remus probing questions about Soundscape and then following any given answers with narrowed eyes and proclamations of, "I've never heard of it!"

Sirius and Fabian were much more relaxed about him. They never ostracised Remus for being a journalist, though there was one major difference between the bassist and the drummer; while Fabian nearly always acted completely down to earth, seeming stoned even when he wasn't, Sirius could switch from your happy-go-lucky best mate to your latest enemy in a matter of seconds. He had a very short temper. To make matters worse, so did James. While Remus had read about past feuds between the band members in Benjy's magazines, it was rather unnerving to see their disputes playing out in full.

James, he learned, was usually the instigator of the arguments. He liked to wind everyone up to some degree but it seemed to grate on Sirius's nerves more than the others, despite their supposedly famous friendship.

The first demonstration of James's lack of tact had been one swelteringly hot Saturday as they were driving to a gig in Cardiff. Everyone had been minding their own business - Sirius had been in the midst of showing Remus the trick of a three card match - when James decided to announce, admittedly after a rather large liquid lunch, that "his band" had performed spectacularly badly at Colston Hall the previous night.

Everyone on the bus looked up with varying degrees of annoyance etched into their features. Peter merely grunted his response, continuing to fiddle with his acoustic guitar. Fabian didn't even blink. Sirius was the one who let the cards go limp in his hand, immediately snapping that James had no room to talk - _he'd_ played the worst out of all of them.

Remus watched on quietly as James, getting rather red in the face, swivelled in his seat to face his best friend head-on.

"I have an excuse to fluff up a solo, mate. Guitar actually requires skill, you know? Whereas you, well..." He scoffed. "You have to be pretty fucking dreadful to mess up on a bass."

Remus didn't think this was particularly fair. It was, of course, an ignorant statement, but besides that Sirius was a fantastic bassist. Watching the Bristol gig from backstage, Remus didn't think he'd messed up once. On the contrary, Sirius always played with flair and vigour. James, however, had stumbled on his guitar work on several occasions, but now he chose to ignore that as he laid into Sirius about his "complete and fucking utter lack of energy or charisma".

The Colston Hall argument was the first Blue Stag row Remus witnessed, and over the next few days as they covered the remainder of the South-West gigs the squabbles continued. They were fairly petty most of the time, occasionally involving Peter or, more often, a member of the road crew or some fan one of them wanted on the bus and another one didn't.

But the worst altercation occurred four days later, backstage at Hammersmith Apollo. Sirius had been missing all of the previous night, and although he often disappeared in the evenings James had been on at him about it all day, making these strange, scathing remarks only the band seemed to understand. He hadn't backed down even when they'd been ordered by Moody to sit quietly in one of the back rooms like children.

As Remus tried to concentrate on his notebook he could hear the low buzz of James's words from across the room, followed by the occasional hiss of words from Sirius whenever he chose to reply. Remus caught only snippets - "I'm just _saying_, you could try –" and "_don't_ say, just shut it" before James made one final quip, and Sirius suddenly pounced on him.

The gasps of everyone around him made Remus look up, but by the time he had everyone else was already jumping into action. The tall, scruffy blond bloke (to whom Remus had never been introduced) was doing his best to yank Sirius's thrashing form off the frontman, while Lily was having her hands batted away by James who was clutching a nose trickling crimson.

"Get off me!" he snarled, though it was difficult to tell if he was talking to his girlfriend or Sirius.

It was Moody who grabbed James under the arms, and he and the blond bloke pulled the two men away from one another like teachers breaking up a playground brawl. Sirius stumbled to his feet, but before Moody had the chance to let rip the yell that was clearly bubbling in his chest, Sirius stormed off through the double doors, seemingly unscathed, followed closely by the blond man.

Remus watched on uselessly, feeling as though he should somehow jump into action too and having little idea what he could actually do to help. He turned his attention back to the remaining group.

"Leave off," James was telling Lily, who flopped back down into her own chair with an angry toss of her red curls. "I'm fine, he hits like a fuckin' bird." Then he snorted so that a little blood sprayed from his nose. "Funny, that."

"Bloody well done, Potter," Moody snapped. He took the wad of tissue from Lily's hands and shoved it at James's face. "Lost your bassist and you're on in an hour. Very nice."

"He'll just be on the bus, for fuck's sake," James said thickly, making to push the tissue to his nose and then lowering it again to add: "sulking."

"Yes well, you will push him, won't you?" said Moody.

"Don't fret," a voice said from beside Remus, making him jump and snap out of his daze. He turned to see Fabian, all lazy smile and half-lidded eyes, chuckling. "They do this all the time. No, I mean _all _the time."

"Why?" asked Remus, throwing another anxious glance towards the door as if expecting Sirius to come bursting back through to finish James off.

Fabian shrugged. "Something to do, isn't it? Plus, James and Sirius are such good friends that they can do stuff like this." He crossed one long middle finger over the second to make his point. "You know, that's the sign of a best mate: someone you can tell to fuck off, knowing they won't take it to heart."

Remus was fairly sure Fabian was stoned or something, but he gave a stiff nod anyway. It was useful information, he decided; how being in a band could turn your closest friend into your worst enemy and all that, that would be great for the article.

When Sirius hadn't returned after twenty minutes, Remus found a pointed finger and a bark of, "You! Go and fetch him!" being directed at him by Moody. Rather than protesting that he was a journalist and not the manager's lapdog, Remus pocketed his notebook (currently full of similar musical feuds and falling outs to which he could compare Sirius and James) and stood back up, weaving through closely-packed bodies and exiting through the back of the building.

It was a particularly warm summer evening, the sky still a pleasant blue, and he spotted the ridiculous bus straight away. He could see the despondent driver smoking on the step.

"Mind if I go in there?" Remus asked politely upon approaching. He had to wait while the driver took a long drag of his cigarette before eventually budging the tiniest amount to the side so that Remus had to awkwardly side step him to get on to the bus.

"I don't know what the problem is," he heard immediately. "You'd think, wouldn't you, that with _him..."_

It was Sirius, of course. Remus spotted the head of dark hair, the tattooed arms and tight clothes as soon as he stepped into the heat of the bus. It wasn't overly shocking to find him speaking to the scruffy blond bloke either, but what _was_ surprising was the way Sirius, upon noticing Remus, quickly darted backwards away from the other man, shutting up altogether.

It could have been Remus's imagination, but he looked pretty shifty, and it perhaps had something to do with the fact that, before he knew Remus was there, his long guitarist's fingers had been gripping the front of the blond guy's white vest. Perhaps they were on the verge of fighting, too... but somehow that wasn't Remus's gut reaction.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Sorry, I just... I've been told to come and fetch you back," he said. He looked on anxiously as Sirius ran those same fingers through his long hair, giving a bright smile in response.

"Cheers, Remus. Back in a minute, mate," he said, voice slightly strained.

The blond man was still watching Sirius, but then he turned very slowly and set a pair of cold blue eyes on Remus in a way that told him he was clearly interrupting something. What that something was, Remus didn't want or bother to ask.

Instead he nodded curtly, answering a silent question of _are you leaving now?_, and practically hurled himself back off the bus, starting towards the arena with clumsy footsteps and hoping his message had been clear enough that Sirius would follow him. He really didn't want to be under the gaze of that menacing blond guy any longer than he had to be.

* * *

><p>Needless to say, Blue Stag didn't perform spectacularly that night. The crowd didn't seem to notice, still frenzied, screaming, chanting, singing as enthusiastically as ever, but Remus had seen the band enough times now to know a good show from a not-so-good one. It also helped that Moody was stood beside him muttering things like, "what the hell are they playing at?" and "this is bloody embarrassing".<p>

Remus tried to write but he wasn't really in the mood for a review when the band were playing so half-heartedly. By this point in the month he had grown to like all the boys to some extent, in spite of their fights and boisterousness and reckless natures. They weren't exactly _friends _with him, but he wanted to give them a good word even so.

He would have been able to do a better job if he were somewhere quiet, though by now he was just watching the concerts out of politeness. It didn't exactly do well for them to say "coming to watch, Remus?" and for him to then reply with "nah, give that backstage pass to someone else. I'd rather sit on the bus and do work".

So he stood for another hour before the band completed their set and, following the perfunctory encore, the four of them finally finished for the evening, scrubbing fluffy towels over their faces and making straight for the drinks table. James promptly picked out a bottle of Seagram's vodka, throwing back the clear liquid like water before announcing, in an adrenaline-pumped voice, that it was time to get "completely shit-faced".

Fortunately, Sirius' scoff at this was muffled by the towel he was running over his face and James didn't notice. Just as well really, otherwise there might have been another fight.

"Pete, Fab," James drawled. He threw his arms around the two men, the Seagram's bottle dangling beside Fabian's tattooed shoulder, before moving to slide a hand around Lily instead. "M'lady."

Then he lifted an eyebrow at Sirius who stood away from them like a spare part.

"Coming?" James said casually, taking another swig from his bottle. His nose was still a little red.

Sirius swung the towel by his side and raised an eyebrow in return. "No, thanks."

Their fights rarely lasted longer than a couple of hours, but Sirius had punched the bloke after all, and it seemed to be taking a little longer than usual to heal the wounds.

Remus heard James begin to mutter something about what Sirius would be getting up to instead, stopping when Lily slapped his arm and tried to change the subject by asking where they were going.

"We'll find somewhere in the city," James told her, before turning to Remus. "Coming, my little writing friend?"

"Er. I'd better stay and get on with some of that writing, actually."

James looked annoyed for a moment, but he soon shrugged, arm still slung around Lily.

"Suit yourself," he said, and then they were off, closely followed by Peter and Fabian. A fair few hangers on trailed after them too, including Scruffy Blond Bloke who, Remus noticed, barely gave Sirius a second glance as he left. Maybe they weren't such good friends after all.

Suddenly the back doors swung shut, and he found himself alone with the road crew and Sirius. The bassist had no time to speak to him though as he dutifully began conversing with the group of fans that had formed, clutching backstage passes, obviously having been completely snubbed by the others.

Remus felt a surprising stab of anger at the rest of the band for leaving without even considering them. They weren't groupies, they were just kids! God only knew the lengths they'd gone to or the amounts they'd paid for those passes. They looked absolutely ecstatic, some of them frozen, at the simple fact that Sirius was signing their t-shirts.

One boy in particular – dressed in similar clothes to Sirius's trademark stage ones; ripped t-shirt, black drainpipes and a long bandana threaded through the belt loops to make a tail – looked to be on the verge of tears as he chanted over and over again: "Oh God, you're my idol!"

With a quick smile Sirius dug in his jeans pockets, producing a few picks and dropping them into the boy's shaking palm. The kid looked as though he were about to faint, and Remus found himself smiling. There was something he could definitely write about.

When they'd gone, Sirius approached him. Remus snapped his book shut, shoving it back into his pocket as the bassist produced a pack of cigarettes and offered one to him. He refused, watching Sirius light up and start towards the door.

"That was nice of you," said Remus, simply to break the silence. He gestured towards the fans' retreating backs as he pushed his side of the double door open.

"It's James they really want to see," Sirius replied modestly, half-smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"I don't think so. That boy was practically hyperventilating."

They wandered down the alleyway towards the back of the private car park where the bus was waiting. Sirius stopped for a moment before leaving the mouth of the lane, turning his face up towards the dark sky, seeming to relish the cool breeze as the fresh smoke flowed from between his lips.

"Nice kid," he said, sucking up the last of his cigarette. He tossed it to the ground, stubbing it under a heavy boot before setting off again.

There were things Remus wanted to ask him at this point, and not only because they seemed like they would be beneficial to what he wrote. Did Sirius still get a kick out of meeting fans? Was it hard to believe, or did it ever get boring? Were there any fans that became pushy or aggressive? But he didn't want to seem like the prying journalist who never switched off. Sirius had had a bad day, and as he wasn't initiating any conversation himself Remus decided to leave it for now.

Once inside the empty bus, Sirius didn't seem intent on conversation either. He started up the curving staircase before pausing and turning to look down at Remus.

"Coming up?" he asked.

A part of Remus wanted to, but a bigger part - the irritatingly sensible part - knew he had to do some work. Reluctantly, he shook his head, offering Sirius a smile as the man continued the rest of the way up to the top deck, leaving Remus alone.

Sighing, he flopped down on to one of the bare seats and shoved aside the George Cross flag that Fabian had been wrapped up in that morning. He took out his notebook, turned to a clean page, nibbled the end of his pen absent-mindedly, thinking for a moment, and then began to write.

This was by no means the article itself but so far his notebook mainly consisted of little code words to remind him of certain occasions, a method he'd used at school when preparing for exams. It never seemed to fail him; even now he found himself recalling all the necessary quotes and he spent the next half hour expanding the little code words and abbreviations in full, quite pleased with himself at how much he had actually managed to obtain while still sticking to the contract guidelines.

So involved was he with his writing that he almost jumped right out of his skin when, from above him, he heard music. Glancing up, he half expected to see a pair of speakers staring down at him. Then he realised it was Peter's old acoustic guitar being strummed, and with a soft jolt he heard a gentle voice begin to accompany it.

He set down his notebook carefully, turning his head upwards for a better listen. The words he couldn't make out from the first deck though it was a melody he recognised, and he moved towards the soft sounds without hesitation, climbing the stairs like an eager concert-goer.

It was Sirius who was playing but then, who else would it have been? As Remus stood in the doorway of the roofed part of the top deck, looking out to where the man was lounging on the open-air half, he also realised he'd been correct in guessing the song.

"And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?" came the soft words, emanating gently from the front of the bus, "Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze?"

Sirius's voice was very different to James's. Not as perfect, nor as clean-cut, though its huskiness, the way it sometimes didn't quite reach the lower notes so that they turned into shallow breaths, somehow seemed more honest, more intimate. It was perhaps clichéd to think it, but the imperfections made it sound beautiful, and Remus found himself stepping closer automatically.

A mistake. Sirius heard him. He let the guitar slip from his grasp as he turned, surprised, and the instrument hit the floor with a dull thud.

"Shit – sorry, mate," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic as he hoisted the guitar back on to his lap. "Forgot you were working. Did I disturb you?"

"Not at all," said Remus.

"You sure? You weren't, er, in 'the zone' or something, were you?"

"I'd be having a right go at you if I had been," Remus smiled. He motioned towards the guitar. "Pink Floyd?"

Sirius's surprised expression dissolved into a grin. "I _was_ beginning to wonder..."

Remus wandered over, Sirius's friendliness over the past week making the act of approaching him much less intimidating, and dropped down into a seat in the opposite aisle.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Sirius continued to smile as he plucked gently at the high E string with his little finger. "Remus. You hum Adam Faith songs under your breath."

At this, Remus didn't know which emotion was more prominent: horror at this revelation, or surprise that Sirius recognised Adam Faith songs at all.

"Do I?" he said weakly. Apparently horror had won.

"Oh yeah, it's brilliant. But hey, not to worry. You just redeemed yourself."

Remus laughed a little shyly. He decided not to question Sirius's knowledge of obscure cheesy 60s singers, and instead turned his gaze on to the starry night sky above them.

"It's really nice up here," he said, lacking anything better. He was a journalist, he was supposed to be good with words, yet somehow Sirius, in spite of his geniality, seemed more difficult to impress than the other band members. Maybe it was because he was supposedly some temperamental genius.

Sirius hummed in agreement and set the guitar down beside him. There was a moment's silence while he took out another cigarette, until a voice down below broke it with a yell of, "Rock and roll for life!", prompting Sirius to snort as he lit up. Taking a drag, he spoke through his smoke: "So. Are you having fun?"

He stressed the last two words in that strange Southern brogue, and for some reason the question surprised Remus. He had been watching Sirius's fluid motions so intently that he blinked before replying a second too late, "Yeah. Yes, of course." He paused. "Are you?"

"Course," he said, shrugging. "Touring's... it's great, you know."

"You don't get homesick?" asked Remus. He knew how much he himself was missing his bed and his friends and his records and maybe even Frank, just a little, and that was despite how exhilarating the experience here was turning out to be.

"Not much," said Sirius, taking another drag. He looked like he'd answered the question a thousand times. "Got my family here with me."

Remus thought this was rather touching, but after a moment Sirius suddenly laughed and burst out with: "God, what a pansy thing to say." He threw Remus a wink. "Won't put that in the article, will you? You'll ruin my image."

Remus huffed out a laugh. "What shall I say then?"

Shrugging, Sirius sucked on his cigarette thoughtfully. "I abandoned all sense of family values so I could earn a living out of getting 'completely shit-faced' with my best mates?" He had James's voice down to a tee, and Remus grinned appreciatively.

"Very hardcore."

"Oh, I'm anything but."

"Yeah?" Remus turned to him, eyebrows raised and lips still tugged into a stupid smile. "You look pretty, um. You know."

"Do I?" Sirius laughed. "I look pretty 'you know'?"

"You have tattoos and that." He was starting to mumble a bit, not wanting to come off as creepy or overly observant.

"My tattoos make me hardcore, eh?" Sirius was looking at Remus a little strangely now, his lips seeming like they wanted to smile though his eyes were slightly calculating, considering. His free hand danced lazily on his chest, and then slowly travelled down to the hem of his shirt which, after a moment's pause, he tugged up slightly. "Check it out."

At first Remus didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at, and his eye was caught by a large tattoo of a hollow five-pointed star, a hip piercing glinting in the middle. But he followed Sirius's gaze to a tiny, delicate strip of writing along his waistband: _You and me burning matches_.

He furrowed his brow a little. "The Beatles?"

Sirius ran his forefinger over the little inked letters, shaking his head in a self-deprecating sort of way. "Very hardcore, isn't it? Thought you might appreciate it," he grinned. "Dreadfully mawkish, don't you think?"

Remus blushed. He could easily believe that he'd been humming Beatles songs under his breath as well.

"So you like them?" he asked.

Sirius shrugged, still ghosting a thoughtful finger over the tattoo.

"Yeah, but it was..." He hesitated. "Well, an _ex _loved them, and I think my very drunk, eighteen-year-old self thought I was being dead romantic." He laughed and tugged his shirt back down. "I don't even know what it means." He sucked on the last of his cigarette and tossed it over the side of the bus, letting his head fall back over the seat.

"I like it," said Remus. "The song, I mean."

"Yeah? I wasn't a big fan of the later stuff," Sirius said, before smiling. "Not that I really have a clue what I'm on about. I suppose you're going to tell me that 'Revolution 9' was their magnum opus?"

"Oh no, no, I mean I preferred the older stuff as well," said Remus, and then he was rather embarrassed to find he was actually leaning forwards eagerly, merely at the prospect of discussing one of his favourite bands. He cleared his throat and sat back again, at the same time as Sirius picked up the guitar with renewed vigour, like he'd been struck with a brilliant idea.

"What's your favourite song of theirs?" he asked, fiddling with a tuning peg.

"What, you're going to play it, are you?"

"What is it first? Then we'll see."

"What if you don't know it?"

"Just tell me the song, Lupin!" Sirius laughed. Remus looked at him. He hadn't realised Sirius knew his last name.

He hesitated before answering, "I don't know. 'I'll Follow the Sun'? I like that."

Sirius hummed his appreciation, half-smile widening. As he began picking out chords and strumming experimentally he said, "I'm glad you didn't say 'Imagine'. _Everyone _says 'Imagine'. Not even a Beatles song. Right."

He rolled his shoulders and adjusted the guitar a little, played a G chord, then began playing the introduction to Remus's chosen song very smoothly, adding in the root notes as and when. At first his long fingers danced along the fret board, playing both rhythm and melody together – so well that Remus would have thought he'd learnt it beforehand if he hadn't just chosen the song himself and then watched Sirius picking out the right chords in preparation – but then in the chorus, he began to sing the melody instead and Remus tensed a little.

Halfway through, Sirius broke off with a laugh. "Am I ruining it?"

Remus shook his head wordlessly, willing him to go on. Sirius sang the next verse in that lovely untrained Baritone, whistling the electric guitar solo and making Remus laugh. He pretended to duff up the last note, giving a mock bow to Remus's applause.

"That was great!" Remus gushed like a kid. "I didn't know you could play guitar like that and... well you know, you can really sing."

"Thanks," said Sirius, as though he'd heard it all before.

There was a moment's comfortable silence until Remus laughed softly and said, "You know, a guy I work with thinks you're ace. 'One of the finest bassists in rock music', I think were his words."

Sirius turned that easy smile on him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, he loves you lot. He really wanted to come on this tour actually."

Fiddling absent-mindedly with the hem of his t-shirt, Sirius looked at him carefully. "Didn't you?"

"Yeah, course," said Remus, feeling a little guilty as he looked at the man whose band he had been less than kind about on more than one occasion. "It's been great. You lot are... really great. And I mean, it'll be good for the magazine."

"Did you always want to be a journalist?

"Well..." Remus started, a little thrown as he was used to asking the questions rather than being asked. "I don't know. I always wanted to write. Except for a couple of years when I thought this really awful band I was in was gonna be famous." He laughed, shook his head slightly to demonstrate just how much of a joke the whole thing had been, but Sirius merely asked him what position he'd played.

"Guitar," he answered after a moment's hesitation. He remembered the hours spent strumming away on that old acoustic, trying to nail blues songs, failing more than miserably and stopping when his mother poked her head around his bedroom door with a pitying look.

Now Sirius held out the guitar to him, eyebrows slightly raised with expectation.

"Badly," Remus added.

Sirius just shook the guitar a little by its neck.

"Absolutely not," Remus said firmly. "I was shocking then, so I don't suppose I've improved much now."

Sirius shrugged. "I'm no Clapton."

"Oh please."

Sirius started to smile, but then he sighed and forced the guitar to stand up next to Remus. Turning in his seat, he began to look for something. Remus watched him curiously until, from beneath a discarded pair of jeans, Sirius found James's green ukulele. He gave it an experimental trill, quickly tuning the nylon strings with expert ease. Then he threw Remus an expectant look, nodding to the guitar he'd placed beside him.

"Right then, Remus. What'll it be?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings:** Brief mentions of drugs

* * *

><p>A lot changed after that evening spent on the roof of the bus, including Remus's newfound friendship with Sirius. They were closer and Remus found himself becoming less awkward, less inclined to thoroughly process every tiny thing in his mind several times before allowing Sirius to hear it.<p>

He'd never been one to jump the gun but by the third week of the tour he reckoned they were sort of friends. Little things brought him to this conclusion; the way Sirius had taken to accompanying him on morning trips to service station loos for a shave, how he sought out Remus's company on the bus, not asking him to join them all like he did at the start but coming to him specifically, as though he actually wanted to spend time with just _him_, the meek, scruffy journalist, rather than all the wonderfully glamorous people they were surrounded by.

Bus journeys seemed to go much quicker with Sirius's easy conversation and droll anecdotes, not to mention an incredible talent for card tricks, and it made the number of arguments between Sirius and James fall considerably too. That wasn't to say they no longer happened, but Remus did notice Sirius seemed more relaxed, more open, less likely to call James up on some quip now that he wasn't stuck with the guitarist for his main source of company.

But as was often the case with Remus, every up side had its downs. James was starting to act funny around him now as well which, really, was the last thing he needed on a job. He didn't really argue with him, but he threw him more suspicious glances and sometimes, if Sirius was with Remus on the bus, he would come over and sit right between them like a child, and Sirius would roll his eyes and turn back towards the window as though he'd been expecting it.

In his typically forgiving way though, Remus still found himself trying to justify James's childish scepticism: _He's just concerned for the welfare of his band, insecure about it all going downhill. That's it. That's got to be it._

And maybe James's insecurities were the reasons for him getting at Sirius so much too. Maybe James thought Sirius was somehow jeopardising the band. Remus couldn't see how, but everyone knew Sirius was a lot less enthusiastic about the concerts than the parties which followed. Since Sirius and James had made up about the Hammersmith fight they were back to their usual antics, drinking heavily and smoking excessively and swallowing the Lord only knew what every single night. It wasn't uncommon to find Moody, teeth gritted, plying them with painkillers and greasy foods each morning, desperately trying to get them ready for whichever gig they were next expected for while they shrugged him off with pained protests or still-drunk carelessness.

Despite his own protests, Remus ended up getting dragged to their "parties" too. It wasn't a surprise really; he'd never been much good at sticking up for himself. The parties were noisy and unsurprising revelries, huge get-togethers held in the hotels they sometimes stayed in (Heaven compared to the sleeping quarters on the bus) or private car parks.

He nearly always hated them.

He'd never considered himself antisocial as such, but he definitely didn't share the boys' enthusiasm for the booked-out hotel floors filled to the brim with tripping roadies and plastered groupies, over-excited fans with over-eager hands. The bus parties were even worse because it was much more difficult to seek refuge anywhere.

At any rate, they certainly weren't the kind of social gatherings Remus was used to.

Sometimes he could get out of them, keeping to his own hotel room with vague notions of work, though he usually ended up shoving a couple of pillows over his head and willing himself to sleep. More often however, he shared a suite with the band and therefore could only escape downstairs, an idea he hadn't managed to carry out yet as he had been caught by one of them every time and practically had his head forced back and a bottle stuck down his throat until he relented.

And it was fine, really, for a while. Sure, he got next to no work done, but he was supposed to cover every aspect of touring so naturally a party or two was vital. It was only in the third week, with nine more days to go before Remus returned home, that things started to get sticky.

They were staying at a hotel in Birmingham and it had all begun tamely enough as far as Remus could remember when later reflecting on it. There were a dozen or so of them passing large sloshing bottles around with a bit of music playing in the background. James lounged with Lily, and Fabian had his arms around a couple of female crew members, and Peter was in the process of chatting up some bird who was clearly more interested in Sirius, who was clearly more interested in the constant presence that was that Scruffy Blond Bloke and whatever it was the two of them were currently smoking.

Remus watched them, feeling a bit odd and not really knowing why. It wasn't _jealousy. _He wasn't a little kid for goodness' sake, and Sirius could enjoy the company of whoever he liked, but the way the man was leering at Sirius didn't sit well with Remus. Neither did the way Sirius was looking back at him, one eyebrow arched and lips sucking tightly on the fag between his fingers to stem the giddy smile clearly aching to break out on to his face.

Quickly turning away, Remus distracted himself with the bottle Fabian was offering him, gulping down a hearty mouthful and almost coughing it back up again once he registered the taste.

"Bloody hell," he spluttered, holding the offending bottle at arm's length. "What _is _that?"

"My _special_ cocktail," Fabian answered. He tried his best to look hurt, but gave in to a bark of wild laughter, throwing his head back and making the women in his grip jump a little.

"Well it tastes shocking," Remus told him, a little snippier than he'd intended. He thrust the bottle back into Fabian's lap and looked about the room. In the past few minutes it seemed to have doubled in population.

As the large suite grew ever more cramped, people the band didn't even know crammed themselves in, making it difficult to seek out individuals. Still, he could see that Sirius, who had been sprawled in front of the balcony doors only moments before, was gone. Scruffy Blond Bloke was still there, chatting up Peter's love interest now. Remus watched him put his hand on her leg and he turned away.

He wondered if he could slip out without anyone noticing. Although it had already been established he wasn't much of an expert at that sort of thing, it was worth a try. He just didn't fancy another night surrounded by people who were, by all accounts, better than him. The band weren't too far gone yet, what with their considerable alcohol tolerance, but they were certainly too preoccupied to bother about him.

Before he could put this plan into action however the sofa depressed slightly, and he turned to see Sirius flopping down beside him, all big smiles and shiny eyes, because hey, _wasn't this fun_? His disappearance had apparently been in search of more alcohol since he was gripping a fresh bottle of Heineken and pressing another into Remus's hand.

"You look like you could do with it, mate," he grinned, not slurring but looking at him with eyes which were just a little too bright.

"Thanks."

Remus sipped at his beer while Sirius threw back a generous mouthful. His grey eyes flitted across the room, though when Remus followed his gaze he saw nothing but flushed bodies and smoke and bottles.

Then, out of the blue, Sirius clapped him on the back.

"Hey, I'll see you later, yeah?" he said, standing abruptly. "Try not to look _so _miserable!" were his last words as he swaggered off, immersing himself in the crowd of people once more.

Remus watched him go, unable to ignore the feeling of utter disappointment that the one person he got on well with was ditching him. Was he really that depressing? He flopped back against the sofa, not caring in the slightest about looking miserable and drinking for lack of anything better to do.

The occasional approach of some pie-eyed stranger served as the only interruptions, until James wandered over clutching a bottle significantly larger than Remus's. For one strange moment, Remus was completely convinced James was going to hit him with it.

He didn't, of course. He just said, in a voice loud enough to make Remus jump, "Gone and left you, has he? There's a surprise. Can't believe he didn't ask you to go with him, seeing as how you two are such good friends." He had a rather frightful scowl on his face as he stood over Remus.

"James," came a hiss, as Lily suddenly appeared out of nowhere in a flash of red curls. "Do give over, for Christ's sake."

"What? Give over doing what? Bit obvious, isn't it?" James sneered.

Lily's eyes flashed dangerously as she reached to take the bottle of amber liquid away from James. He stepped from her rather than talking back, unwilling to start an argument with her as he always was but apparently rather determined to keep his drink too.

"What's obvious?" Remus asked. He was tired at this point in the month of James's cryptic messages. He knew it wasn't really his place to be annoyed, but he couldn't help disliking how in the dark he was about this big secret the band all seemed to be in on.

It was James's reply of, "Oh _nothing_. Yeah, fuck all," which made Remus finally follow up on his decision to leave. He stood abruptly. Even if he _was _an outsider he wasn't going to sit around and have James Potter swearing at him and speaking in codes.

For a moment as they came face to face he considered telling him to just _shut up_ for once, but even Remus couldn't be pushed to completely abandon the respect that was required of him for the man, so he pushed past him instead, ignoring the indignant slur of "What did I do?" and braving the crowd of people to reach the door.

Bodies pressed up against him, his ears filled with the sounds of raucous laughter and jeers and someone's loud wailing, and when he finally managed to stumble out of the room he felt like he'd been through a steam roller, his clothes sticking to him with other peoples' spilt beer and sweat.

Swaying slightly from the drink, Remus blinked in the bright light of the hallway, glancing first at the large staircase and briefly entertaining the idea of going to find the hotel bar. After all, there was nothing wrong with drinking as long as you weren't doing it in the company of a load of grown-up kids playing with drugs, some random bird pressing herself up against you because she's too far gone to realise you aren't famous.

But he thought about the steps, the crowds, the drunkards even more foreign to him down there, and in the end discarded the idea to find an empty room to lie down in instead. Despite how pathetically unglamorous it was, the idea of a soft pillow beneath his head was suddenly very appealing.

The floor was booked out. All of the doors were unlocked and there were so many rooms he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. Poking his head around the one nearest to him first, he noted with a grimace that it was already occupied by Peter and the girl he'd tried to chat up originally (so she'd rejected Scruffy Blond Bloke, he noticed).

Quickly darting away, he advanced up the corridor where less of the rooms were in use. It grew quieter the further along he went, the music and cheers and clinks of bottles gradually fading, but he still stumbled across another three "private parties" before making the frustrated decision to go right down to the end of the corridor, as far away from the suite as possible.

He chose the very last door on the right just to make double sure he wasn't going to be bothered. Pleased as he was with this initiative however, Remus soon discovered that someone else had had the idea first.

While the right-hand room wasn't occupied, the one opposite definitely was. Remus certainly wasn't trying to look but when he moved to push his own door open he turned automatically at the sound of a familiar voice, spotting through the wide open door a combination of dark hair and ripped clothes.

Remus knew it couldn't have been anyone but Sirius, despite his face being obscured by someone else's. The someone was busy in the process of pressing hard kisses to Sirius's lips and jaw and neck, and while it wasn't an surprising thing for Remus to witness (really, he thought, nothing could shock him anymore), he gasped when he realised the person attacking Sirius with their lips, the person making Sirius arch up from the creamy hotel wall, was the blond man who'd been following him around for the past three weeks.

At first Remus merely blinked, mouth going dry, hot hand still grasping the handle to his own door. It should have been a strange sight to see because this was _Sirius_, Sirius with another _man_. Sirius, who was advertised as virile and intimidating, who wore ripped jeans and played bass in a rock band and therefore didn't do things like this... except here he was, confirming the suspicions which, if Remus was honest with himself, he'd had since he saw Sirius gripping on to the other man after the Hammersmith Apollo incident.

What made it odd and slightly surreal, Remus realised when he blinked away the dazed, prickly fuzziness in his eyes, wasn't that it was Sirius and another bloke; it was that Sirius didn't seem to be very in control at all. His whole body suddenly seemed tiny, pinned against that wall.

He didn't utter a single word of protest as the other man bit at his lips, locked his wrists together, clawed at his hair, ground against him roughly, and it would have looked forced, painful, were it not for Sirius's noises of encouragement. If Remus had been fit to do anything but stare dumbly he could have tested the theory out by clamping his hands over his ears.

Instead he said stupidly, "Sirius?"

Later on, as he lay in bed, he didn't know what had possessed him to speak, didn't know why he hadn't just turned and legged it when he saw the bassist getting off with someone in a clearly private situation. At the time Remus simply stayed still as Sirius tore his head away from the other man, wrenching sideways as there was no room to go back, fixing a pair of darkened eyes on Remus, gaze a little wild with lust and drink and shock.

Remus was dimly aware of the blond drawling out some comment - "whoops-a-daisy" or something like that - but he was already opening his own mouth to stammer out some stupid apology, _got the wrong room_ or words to that effect. He was too distracted by Sirius's wide eyes and red lips and the way the blond bloke's hands were still clutching his wrists together to take in the words that were spilling out of his own mouth by way of an excuse.

Then he really did turn on his heel and stagger back down the hallway, somehow expecting to be called back and hoping he wouldn't be. He was mortified, flushed with embarrassment, but any thoughts of escape were lost when he was caught up with halfway down the corridor. He let out a yelp of surprise as a strong hand gripped his wrist and twisted, hard, and he was forced round to face Sirius. He was obviously trying to present Remus with a look of concern but failing miserably and ending up looking bewildered instead.

"Weshouldprobablytalk," he panted.

"No, I'll just – look, I'll just go." He tried to pull his arm from Sirius's grip, but Sirius just reattached his fingers to Remus's bicep, clutching even harder and making Remus hiss in pain.

"Sirius, that _hurts _–"

"Don't tell James."

Sirius's eyes were very wide, and up close in the light of the hallway Remus saw just how grey they really were. They were extremely intense in his most docile of moods, so now when he was drunk and panicked and probably high they looked pretty alarming, and Remus found it difficult to keep eye contact.

"Sirius," he managed, averting his gaze and noticing how long Sirius's fingers looked wrapped around him, knuckles white in the tanned hand. "I won't tell anyone. It's fine, you've had a lot to drink."

"But –"

Sirius paused abruptly. He held on to Remus's arm tight, though his grip lessened slightly. Slowly, he raised his other hand to his stomach and gave a small groan, making Remus blink. Then he brought the hand to his mouth.

Remus watched him warily. A vague voice in the back of his head told him he should probably move, but transfixed by the strange, foreign expression on Sirius's face, he didn't. Still holding on to Remus's arm, Sirius turned and threw up all over the floor.

* * *

><p>"I was wondering where you were."<p>

Sirius's soft voice rang out from behind Remus, accompanied with the rough sound of footsteps against the tiles of the balcony. Remus had been trying to write something useful for hours, but now as he leant against the railings, warm summer air dancing across his face, his notebook was littered only with scribbles.

His mind wouldn't function properly. He hadn't been drunk enough to forget the previous night's events this morning, and they'd been replaying in his mind all day. There was no concert that evening, and Sirius had only just emerged from his room, rough and pale. He hadn't opened an eye all day until now, except once around mid-afternoon apparently just to mumble that Peter and his cup of coffee could piss right off.

But now he was up - groggy, but up - and, having accepted a sandwich packed with about five different breakfast foods off Fabian, he wandered over to to the balcony.

He ate slowly, peeling off the crusts like a child and tossing them away. His hair was sticking up at odd angles from sleep and he was barefoot in the rumpled t-shirt and jeans he hadn't changed since passing out on the large divan bed. He looked worlds away from the wide-eyed, drunken, swollen-lipped mess he'd been last night. It was a bit like looking at Sirius Black's more vulnerable little brother.

"Just trying to clear my head," Remus told him. "It's been sore all day."

"Join the club," Sirius muttered, but he offered Remus a smile all the same. "Apparently we need to have a chat."

Immediately, Remus felt his skin begin to prickle. _Get ready, Lupin. He's about to tell you what a gigantic pervert you are._

"About last night," Sirius continued, moving to rest his back against the metal bars while Remus looked onwards, avoiding his gaze.

"I'm surprised you remember anything," he told him, attempting a smile.

"I don't," Sirius admitted. "Leo told me you walked in on something."

Remus didn't dare look at the other man's face. He was sure now that Sirius was sober he would be back to his usual enviably cool self, and Remus didn't want to be the one to let out the shaky laugh, to be unable to keep eye contact.

"Leo?" he said.

"You know, the blond one?"

"Yes. Right."

Then came a long silence. Sirius, looking like he wasn't very hungry anymore, swivelled round so he was facing the same way as Remus, pulling absent-mindedly at a bit of bacon poking out of the bread. He nibbled at it before letting out a sigh.

"Look, Remus, it might make you uncomfortable but we can't avoid it now, can we?" When Remus still didn't reply, Sirius cocked an eyebrow. "You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Remus said quietly, "but I won't tell anyone. I know I'm a journalist but I swear I won't. I didn't mean to walk in, I really was just looking for a room. My head hurt and the door was open and –"

"I know. I must have been really out of it. Things like that don't cross my mind when I'm in that state because, you know, I'm a fucking idiot. Sorry."

Remus finally looked at him, surprised by the apology.

"Don't be. I won't tell anyone," he repeated. "You don't need to explain yourself."

"I should tell you. I mean, I want to tell you as a friend, not a journalist. Forget Moody's little contract. We're mates, you and me, yeah?"

"Sure." Remus failed to keep the brief hint of pleasure out of his mind at learning that Sirius considered them friends, and suddenly it became easier to meet his eyes.

Sirius on the other hand ducked his head to down to look over the high balcony, looking as though he'd decided against speaking after all. In the end though, he just dropped the bit of bacon he'd been nibbling on down to join the crusts, before announcing in a slightly strained voice: "Remus, I'm queer."

Remus watched, quiet and unsurprised, as Sirius glanced around briefly to check no one was listening. Then he popped a bit of bread in his mouth and continued with a nod, as though Remus had questioned it, "Yeah. Although I've only actually had one relationship. This guy I met at a gig down in Crawley. He was twenty-one and I thought he was, you know, dead grown-up and that." He glanced at Remus. "You don't mind me saying that, do you?"

"What?"

"Saying about shacking up with another guy. Though I suppose if you cared you would have kicked off last night like everyone else does."

"I don't mind," Remus said truthfully.

There was no reason for him to mind. The idea of being bent wasn't exactly a foreign concept to him. Despite the fact that the majority of his limp, short-lived relationships involved girls, he wouldn't hesitate to admit, if only to himself, that he had in the past shown some interest in blokes too, albeit ones plastered on the pages of music and film magazines.

It had never felt _wrong. _It wasn't something he was afraid of either, especially since Cass Elliot and David Bowie had started making 'fluidity' cool in the 70s. Since Freddie Mercury and men of similar standing didn't spend much time in Gloucester, romantic encounters were few and far between as far as other blokes were concerned. But Remus understood it, and he wanted to make sure Sirius knew that too.

Now the bassist looked at him with the ghost of a smile.

"You're a nice guy, Remus, do you know that?"

Remus felt a faint blush creep up from his neck, and he became glad of the dark sky.

"I'm just being honest," he muttered. "I don't mind."

Sirius turned once more, resting his elbows on the cold metal bars of the balcony.

"The lads were about as all right with it as you can expect your best mates to be. I mean, I wanted the normal stuff like everyone else. James only wanted two things: Lily and a record deal. He got her - eventually - and then all of a sudden we were being offered this deal..."

He nibbled his lower lip for a moment, staring down as though replaying the memories in his head while Remus stood, quiet and tensed and wondering how much more he was going to learn that would go against everything he'd read about the band so far. When Sirius spoke it was seconds later, in a slightly hoarser voice.

"Honestly, I've never seen James so happy. Dead excited, he was, and I just kind of got caught up in it." He gave a slight shrug. "Didn't really stop to think about what I wanted, just signed the dotted line. It was all happening, you know? But then it -"

He broke off and glanced around again as though he'd heard a noise, double-checking nobody was behind him before turning back to Remus.

"- all changed before we'd even really got going. I remember it was a week before we recorded our demo and he came to me looking, quite honestly, mental. Obviously pissed out of his mind, the pleb. Manic like he was on something. Started going on at me about 'being prepared' and 'doing the right thing'. Turned out he wanted me to choose between the band and this lad I was with at the time."

Remus hesitated before saying softly, "And you chose the band."

"But I wasn't choosing the band, was I? I was choosing _James_. I mean, I know he doesn't..." Sirius stopped with a sigh before correcting himself. "I know _we _don't act like it so much these days, but we grew up together and he's my best mate. Besides, it's not like I was in love with this other bloke, or anything." He cocked his head to the side slightly. "Might've been, one day. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No," said Remus.

It was only half true. He wasn't uncomfortable talking about the relationship, but he knew that he should have been surprised by this out pour of emotion from Sirius. Then again, he'd learnt pretty early on that the man had no qualms about letting his feelings be known as soon as there was a hint that you could be trusted - even more so if he'd been drinking.

It was no wonder James was so paranoid all the time really, what with Sirius being so trusting and he being the complete opposite. It was probably a good dynamic for them when they were schoolboys. It wasn't so helpful when they were being faced with what James clearly saw as the possibility of worldwide humiliation.

But James didn't need to worry. There was no way Remus was going to splash Sirius's secret across the pages of Soundscape, no matter how much the journalist in him wanted to hear more.

"Back then it was an obvious choice," Sirius went on. "I left him the next day. It was horrible, really weird. He just kept looking at me, not like he was mad or upset or anything, just really _disappointed_, like he..."

"Knew why you were doing it?"

Sirius nodded.

"He always knew, never let on. I told myself James didn't want any of us to be tied down but I knew really he was just ashamed of me. Couldn't stand the thought of anyone knowing someone in his band was a filthy shirt-lifter." He smiled bitterly and chucked the rest of his sandwich to a couple of pigeons on the ground below.

"That's why you let our magazine feature you," Remus said quietly as Sirius wiped his hands on his jeans, "because you knew you could have your own terms but a bigger company would just sell you out straight away. Or get another band, I suppose."

"We need publicity, Remus. It's all just business, you know?" said Sirius, as though Remus were accusing him of something.

"I know, I just... to be honest, I don't understand how you didn't expect me to find out after a month."

For once, Sirius actually managed to look somewhat uncomfortable. He scratched the back of his head, swaying on the spot.

"Well, I wasn't exactly supposed to... you know."

"They made you promise you wouldn't...?"

Neither of them seemed to be able to say it out loud, perhaps because they were both trying to stray from the embarrassing scenario in the hotel room. For Remus, the idea of saying it - _have sex _- to someone famous, even if that someone considered him to be a mate, was just a little too awkward.

"Yeah, and I did try to stick to it but sometimes I'm out of it," Sirius told him. "I drink and I take whatever people are offering me and, you know, just sort of think 'fuck off, this is who I am, I can do what I want' and... so on." He scratched at the side of his face absent-mindedly. "I'm a twat basically."

"You're not."

"I am. God, I am. Can't even keep it in my fucking pants for one month. How's that for dignity?"

"You're twenty-three, you're in a band, no one would hold it against you. It's not fair of them to expect you to hide yourself away like that."

"No, it isn't. But it's not fair of me to break a promise to them either."

"But..." Remus's brow furrowed a little as he spoke, thinking. "But you have a - a boyfriend now. Surely they don't expect you to just –"

"Boyfriend?" Sirius echoed. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"That... man," Remus reminded him, blushing a little. "Leo."

"Yeah?"

"You, er, sleep with him." Suddenly worried he'd got the wrong end of the stick, Remus quickly added, "Don't you?"

"If I'm hopped-up, then yeah." Sirius shrugged. "Leo's a mate. He's just there."

Then he winced, realising how his words sounded.

"I don't mean it like that. I just mean he's in on it and he's up for it, so it's better than me shagging some fan who'll only go and sell their story, isn't it? If I'm gonna be outed, I want to do it myself. Except I'm _not_ going to because I'd have to leave the band before I did that and James'd go mental."

Remus was on the brink of asking how he could be so sure that this Leo guy wouldn't tell - honestly, he had never seemed exactly friendly - when a lazy voice suddenly piped up from behind them; "What would dear James go mental about?"

They both turned, alarmed, but Fabian was wearing that easy smile and before either of them could lie he continued, "Wouldn't have anything to do with you throwing up on our journalist last night, would it?"

Sirius turned back to the car park below and dipped his head, inhaling loudly.

"I didn't, did I?" he groaned.

Fabian cackled gleefully. "You did!"

"You didn't," Remus said quickly. "Er, not on me anyway."

"Bloody hell, I don't even remember that. Sorry, Remus. You must think I'm a right tit."

"It was odd," Fabian drawled, moving to stand on the other side of Sirius, "because you're normally less of a bird. It's usually our Pete who can't handle the festivities. What's the lesson here?" He ruffled Sirius's hair. "Don't give in to cottonmouth, you!"

"Fucking ow." Sirius pulled his head away from Fabian. "Go away, I've still got a headache."

"Well, why are you surprised? You threw your lovely sandwich to the rats!" Fabian waved an arm. "I made that specially for you."

"You ordered room service and it tasted like oil on toast."

"Oh well, piss off then," Fabian joked, but then he looked at his band mate with a slightly more serious expression. "Look, I just came to tell you James wants a word."

"James always wants a word. I've only just got up. Can't he leave me alone for a bit?".

Fabian shrugged. "He just told me to come and find you."

"He couldn't come himself?" Sirius asked, but he was already moving back towards the doors.

"He's in his room," Fabian called after him, then after a slight hesitation he added: "with Leo."

At this, Sirius looked back at him, and then his eyes briefly met with Remus's. If he was nervous though, he wasn't giving anything away. When he'd gone, there was a long silence as the Remus and Fabian looked out over the deserted car park. Somehow, without being told, Remus knew that James knew. And that meant that Fabian knew.

"I've gone and buggered things up now, haven't I?" he said eventually.

"No, you haven't," Fabian drawled, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He went to light one up, then saw Remus's questioning gaze and removed the little white stick from his mouth. "What, you think you're the first one to walk in on Sirius and some bloke?" He snorted. "No chance."

Remus quite liked Fabian, but there was something about his tone in that moment he didn't appreciate. He didn't sound disapproving of Sirius... he just sounded like he was laughing at him, like he found it all to be one big joke.

"What do you mean?"

Having lit up by this point, Fabian turned and smiled at Remus through a cloud of smoke, as though he were in on the joke too.

"You're a smart guy, Remus, but you're no Sherlock Holmes. Our Sirius isn't exactly subtle, is he?" He let out an irritating chuckle and shook his head, and then a loud voice sounded from inside James's - not quite a shout but getting there. "Dear me."

It was that careless tone that got to Remus, and he found his eyes narrowing of their own accord.

"Do you care what they're fighting about?"

It wasn't a snap, but it was enough to make Fabian give him a surprised look.

"Do you?" he countered.

"Of course I do," Remus replied a little hesitantly, suddenly worried he'd annoyed the drummer. "Sirius just told me the whole story, how James made him leave that bloke and how he makes him hide the whole thing for the sake of the press. It's a pretty cruel thing to do to someone, don't you think?"

He had hoped his tone was conversational rather than scathing, but Fabian's surprised look turned to an unimpressed one and he shook his head once more with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Told you that, did he?" He chuckled again. "I knew you were friends but..."

Remus shifted uncomfortably. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just... for someone who's only known you a couple of weeks, he's laying it on a bit thick, our boy Sirius, isn't he?"

His voice was laced with amusement and surprise and something else which Remus couldn't quite pinpoint. When Fabian didn't continue, Remus gave a small sigh.

"Fabian, are you going to tell me what you're talking about or are you just going to, you know, carry on speaking in codes like James does?"

Fabian finished his cigarette and tossed it off the balcony, moving to go back indoors.

"Remus, I like you, mate. You're actually alright for a journo. But it's Sirius who's chosen you for his new best friend, yeah? All I'm gonna say is: don't be so quick to assume someone's always right just because they're your pal."

"You don't think he deserves to hide who he is just because of something he can't even help, do you?"

"Not at all," Fabian replied in an annoyingly pleasant tone.

"Well, what then?"

Fabian just held up his hands in mock surrender.

"It's not my place to say. You're the journalist, after all."

And then he was off, back inside, no doubt eager to get another party started. Remus watched him go, and then turned back to the railings with a sigh, irritated and alone. He ignored the noises coming from inside the hotel, instead flipping his notebook back open and glancing down to see the pigeons tearing the unwanted bread apart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings:** None

* * *

><p>"You pass backwards, Pete. <em>Backwards<em>!"

"Bugger off, we're not playing properly, James. You know we're not playing -"

"He always uses that excuse when he's God-awful at something."

"And you can sod off too, Sirius! Like you can talk."

A few small laughs followed, lazy in the heat of the summer sun, and Remus smiled too as he folded up a pair of jeans to put them into his duffel bag. It was getting pretty full already and he still had a second pair of shoes and all of his t-shirts to get in. He hadn't bought anything new during the month. Why was packing always so ridiculously awkward the second time round?

Slipping his hands down the sides of the bag to clear some space, he glanced out of the window. He had to squint in the bright sunlight, watching James tackle a roadie they'd somehow managed to rope into their rowdy game of the inventively titled Car Park Rugby. They'd asked Remus to play too but he'd quickly told them he needed to pack. It wasn't a lie (although he'd never been much cop at sports) since he had a train to catch in a couple of hours. The thought made him flop down on to the seat next to his bag and blink down at the polo shirt in his hands.

He wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but he _really _didn't want to go back to Gloucester just yet. He had that dull thud in his stomach, the one he used to get on the last night of the school holidays or the end of Christmas day. Pathetic really, considering his age, but the thought of going back to his dreary two-up two-down was dreadfully unappealing.

More unappealing was the thought of work on Monday, being pestered by Frank and Benjy and Emmeline and Dorcas. Frank would probably interrogate him for about an hour and scour his notes like some kind of mad detective. Emmeline and Dorcas would badger him about what-James-Potter-and-Sirius-Black-were-really-like. And Benjy... well, there were no words. He would simply be a nightmare.

But more than that, Remus _liked _the band. Even James was alright, despite having pulled him aside a couple of days ago to make double sure he wasn't going to spill certain secrets, though he seemed fairly confident that the contract and Remus being an obvious pushover would take care of this.

Even Peter had grown on him recently. Fabian had been pleasant from the start of the tour, and Sirius – well, there was something to be said for someone whose conversation Remus actually craved. The thought of spending his nights cooped up in his tiny house, alone, bent over his desk to scribble out some half-arsed review, rather than listening to Sirius's tales and theories and music and jokes, was almost depressing.

Almost, because Remus was determined not to actually let it get him down. He was a journalist. The idea was that he did these things and then moved on from them after making a bit of cash out of it. He wasn't supposed to become attached, like some starstruck bird. To emphasise this thought he gave the last shirt a rather vicious shove as he bundled it up and crammed it into the bag.

A scrape, thud and yelp outside made him glance up from the mess of cotton. It was Sirius, stumbling to the hard ground, successfully tackled around the knees by that bloke _Leo_.

Remus automatically looked for signs of _something_, but Sirius barely even looked at the other man as he laughed, eyes darting after the oval-shaped ball now clutched in someone else's hands, and pushed himself up off the concrete ground. His ambusher stood a couple of seconds later, taking the time to brush the dirt off his jeans and sort his purposely scruffy hair. _Arrogant prat_, Remus thought with a frown.

That was a point, though; he wouldn't miss Leo. He wouldn't much miss the other hangers-on either. They all seemed so _desperate_. He used Leo as a prime example as he unknotted the laces on a pair of shoes. Simply for a taste of fame, Leo acted as a stand-in for all the groupies Sirius would apparently be getting off with otherwise. How low was that?

Then again, Remus couldn't ignore the niggling voice in the back of his mind that told him Sirius wasn't exactly too admirable for the arrangement either. Remus had truly wanted to comfort him last week when he heard what had happened between Sirius and James in the past, but he couldn't help feeling a little uncomfortable at the thought of there being people like Leo hanging around specifically for "certain reasons".

It would have been different were Sirius in love with Leo, but as far as Remus could see, Sirius was barely in _like_with Leo. What was it Sirius had said? "He's in on it, and he's up for it." At the time, Remus had nodded and gone along with it as though he understood. Now when he thought back to it, the whole arrangement seemed somehow wrong.

He mentally shook himself to get rid of the thought. He wasn't going to jump to conclusions about someone he barely knew, even if he did feel some sort of connection with him. He wasn't about to try and understand the mindsets of people who had all known each other for thirteen years when he had only known them for four weeks. It was fair enough for Remus to say a person could go without sex for a couple of months; he wasn't exactly getting a lot for himself these days.

It was all about putting it into context. Sirius was famous. Things were different for famous people. Famous people expected to get a lot, didn't they?

This in mind, Remus bundled up the last of his stuff and shoved it into the bag, finding another cause for an utterance of "bollocks" as he lifted it up. His larger notebook had been underneath the bag, forgotten, though he'd deliberately left it out last night so that he would see it and pack it first. Obviously it had gone and got itself lost beneath the avalanche of clothes at some point since.

Sighing, he tried to stuff it into his bag just as cheering erupted from outside, and he saw James had his arm slung around Sirius's neck now. They seemed to be back to pretending they hadn't been at odds with one another all month, and that last week the "incident" and their subsequent "talk" hadn't happened. Sirius hadn't mentioned it to Remus, and he didn't dare ask about it.

Presently the bassist looked up and caught Remus watching them through the open window. He winked. It was probably meant as an _isn't-James-a-tit _wink, but it startled Remus all the same. He gave him a quick smile in return and darted his eyes down to the awkward notebook, trying to pretend he hadn't been gawping.

Then he heard thuds on the metal steps and the panting of a dozen people as they all crowded back on to the bus, most of them heading for the red cool boxes in the corner, ignoring him as they shoved past to get at the icy green glass bottles. Just as he managed to ram the book into his bag, successfully splitting the cloth, he looked up to see one of the dripping bottles dangling in front of his nose.

"Oh – thanks." He took it, not really thirsty, and watched Sirius turn to snatch a bottle opener from Peter. He uncapped Remus's first before his own. Then he motioned to the duffel bag.

"You're really going then?" Tipping his head back, he downed a healthy amount of his drink. Beads of sweat were rolling down his neck, catching in the dips of his collarbone, and Remus suddenly noticed how hot he felt. He tugged his shirt away from his chest a little, glad he'd passed up Car Park Rugby after all.

"Yes, in a couple of hours," he said reluctantly, averting his gaze. "Looking forward to the concert?"

Sirius shrugged and said breathlessly, "Not much."

Someone behind him wanted to get past to the door, and as he moved to let them he slid into the seat beside Remus. He poked him gently in the side, still panting slightly. "You won't be there."

Remus looked at him, surprised, but then he saw Sirius's jokey grin and realised he wasn't really being sentimental.

"I wish I was," he said. "I really can't be arsed with Gloucester right now."

"Stay then."

"I'm sorry?"

Sirius shrugged and started to pick at the foam leaking out of the seat in front. "Stay on tour with us."

Remus smiled at him. "I'm afraid I have things to do," he said, quite pleased that Sirius suggested it all the same.

"Like what?"

"Like a job."

"Hm." Sirius sounded both disappointed and unimpressed at Remus's lack of spontaneity. He turned away to look out of the window opposite, the rest of the band and their entourage now gathered outside. They were all drinking, laughing and jeering and talking loudly, and James looked to be in the middle of telling a rather crude joke. Sirius turned back to Remus. His expression softened and he cocked his head to one side. "Will you come and see me sometimes anyway?"

Remus blinked. "Er... like, when?"

"Like," Sirius mimicked, licking his lips, "when I get off tour."

"You want me to come and see you?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise, would I?"

"Sorry," Remus said quickly, noting Sirius's impatient tone. "I mean, I'd like to."

"But..?"

The 'but' was that it probably wouldn't happen. Meeting up again was clearly something Sirius felt inclined to suggest because of Remus's departure. Still, it was probably easier to go along with it anyway, so Remus shook his head. "There isn't one. I'd like to."

Sirius's face dissolved into a smile.

"Brilliant," he chirped. "You can come and stay with me in London, yeah? We'll do something. What shall we do?" He took out a pack of cigarettes and scrabbled around on the seat opposite for a box of matches. Once he'd lit up, he batted Remus's arm impatiently. "What do you like doing? _Not _the theatre, though. Hey, you're a music journalist. We'll go and see a band, okay?"

Remus's mind told him it was an empty promise but he was rather touched by the enthusiasm all the same. He allowed himself to briefly entertain the idea of staying in London with Sirius and nodded back at him, mirroring the grin.

They spent the rest of the afternoon outside with everyone else. A makeshift game of rounders ensued this time, but Sirius sat this one out to keep Remus company. An hour and a half later when they were both sufficiently sun burnt (meaning Sirius was tanning nicely and Remus looked like a peeling tomato), and he found himself standing at the back entrance to that evening's arena, ruined bag in hand and clothes sticking to him from the heat. The band were waiting there to see him off before they sought refuge in the cool building for their sound check.

"You're welcome to stay and watch. I'm sure there's a later train," said James, but the words were automatic, the tone bored, and Remus knew he didn't really mean it. He shook James's hand with a grateful smile, then Peter's, and then Fabian pulled him into a surprisingly tight embrace.

"You're alright," he drawled, clapping him on the back.

Remus barely had time to utter his thanks before Sirius was pulling him into a hug, too. It hurt his burnt body a little but he didn't really mind. Just as he was about to give his awkward farewell to the four of them, Moody appeared at the double doors, face scrunched up in annoyance.

"You're going to be late, lads. Come on, get in," came the impatient growl. He himself hadn't shown much interest in saying goodbye to Remus, and Remus hadn't made an effort to do anything about it. He reckoned a hand shake from Moody would be pretty painful.

At the manager's order the men began to move, murmuring their various goodbyes and raising their hands in farewell. Once Fabian, James and Peter had disappeared inside however, Moody was left looking at Sirius with an expectant quirk of his eyebrow.

"Couple of minutes, eh?" said Sirius, turning. Moody's were lips already in position for a snap of "Black!" but the request earned Sirius a sigh and a bark of "_one _minute" before the double doors slammed shut again, leaving them alone in the baking heat of the car park.

Remus adjusted the strap of his heavy bag and looked up at the other man, lips parted in question. Swaying on the balls of his feet, Sirius met his gaze steadily, hands in his pockets, and Remus felt slightly apprehensive at the sight of the strange expression he was faced with.

This was replaced by complete surprise as Sirius ducked his head and kissed him on the cheek.

"I meant it, you know," he said quietly. He smiled. "About London."

Remus hadn't been kissed on the cheek since he was about eight years old, forced into games of Chase in the playground. It felt most peculiar now, fifteen years later, from another man. He raised his hand automatically to touch the place where Sirius's lips had been, but stopped himself quickly, swiping the damp palm across his t-shirt instead.

"Thank you," he said stupidly.

"For what?"

Sirius's smile had already turned back into a smirk as he swept sweat-slicked hair from his eyes.

"For..." Gathering himself back up, Remus let out a breath, reaching to push Sirius's shoulder gently in the way the man had so often done to him. "Being a mate."

He thought he saw something flicker in the grey eyes then – surprise, perhaps – before Sirius shrugged and swept a bit of gravel off his jeans. "Sure," he said.

The late afternoon sun was screaming down at them by now, and Remus could feel his red face and arms prickling. Not wanting to outstay his welcome, he thought about using it as his reason to leave. Sirius got there first.

"Well, I'm dying out here," he announced, running a hand across his chest. "Better head in. Sound check, you know."

Remus nodded.

"Rightyo," he said, cringing as he registered his sappy choice in vocabulary. Sirius gave a low laugh.

"I'll see you, Remus," he said, and with a final smile and a wink, he left.

It was only when the double doors banged shut and Remus had turned to make his way out of the car park to towards the station that he realised with a start that he _wouldn't_ be seeing him after all. Not because he assumed Sirius's plans were all talk anyway, but because he'd never actually found out how to get in touch with him.

* * *

><p>Remus hated trains. Even if he was only on them for little over an hour they still did his head in because he'd always, unquestionably and without exception, end up next to the oddball. When he'd first got on at Manchester Victoria station he'd been in the company of a quiet old lady, pleasant enough and reeking of orange blossom. She deserted him at Birmingham though, and he had to spend the rest of the journey next to a man in a black duster with long, scraggly hair and wide, restless eyes.<p>

It was always Remus. He always attracted the freaks.

He'd been writing in his smaller notebook when the man sat down next to him, and Remus made the mistake of giving him a small smile in acknowledgement. In hindsight, he realised he should have just ignored him and carried on writing, but his politeness prompted the man to start babbling on at him in a high, shaky voice about some nonsense – drugs probably.

The only mildly interesting part was when he caught sight of the paper in Remus's lap and his eyes went so large they looked like they might pop out of his skull.

"Blue Stag?" he gasped. "I love them."

Course he did. Remus would never be lucky enough to get a nice, normal bloke who liked The Zombies and _University Challenge_. Rolling his eyes towards the window, he couldn't stop a small sigh escaping his lips, his own downcast expression the only thing he could see in the glass besides the man gesticulating so wildly he had to duck once or twice.

"I have this mate who says they're into the occult." He pronounced it _oh-cult _and wiggled his fingers, and then mistook Remus's snort of laughter for confusion as he went on, "That's like devils and junk. He says if you play 'Street Thirteen' backwards it has hidden messages in it."

Remus laughed again, a little more meanly than he'd intended.

"It's 'Street _Fif_teen'," he told the strange man, "and they aren't into the occult."

The man's ugly face twisted into an alarming frown and Remus was suddenly more than certain he was going to get a punch. The red eyes dragged themselves up and down Remus's khaki cut-offs and stripy polo shirt.

"How would _you _know? You're just a scruffy little clodhopper."

That was a bit out of order. Sure he was scruffy, but _clodhoppe_r? He hadn't been called a clodhopper since he was about six, when some snobby little lad from Exeter had come to their primary school for one term and had spent most of the time nastily imitating everyone's West Country accents until someone had rightfully clobbered him.

Remus imagined telling the man he'd just spent the last month with Blue Stag, and before he'd left the bassist had _kissed _him. Well, only on the cheek, and as nothing more than a friendly goodbye, but to guys like this a kiss from a rock star was a kiss from a rock star. He knew that would only result in an array of annoying questions though. In fact, he'd probably end up getting mugged for something autographed, so instead he shrugged and doodled a couple of stars into the margin of his page, not answering.

"Exactly!" the man slurred triumphantly. Then he continued to prattle on about "this mate I have" and all the bands he reckoned had revolutionised music, including Culture Club and Grand Funk Railroad.

Remus almost wept with relief when at last the train drew up to Gloucester railway station and, clapping his book shut, he bid a hasty farewell to the man who was still blathering on as Remus stood to shuffle past him.

"Remember, mate!" the man wailed after him as Remus made for the sliding doors. "Play 'Street Fourteen' backwards!"

Ignoring him, Remus slung his bag over his back and hopped off the train into the near-empty station. It was just after seven o'clock and he was starving hungry and needed to pee so badly he was sure he was going to start walking funny any minute.

To make matters worse, down here in Gloucester he could already hear that it was pouring with rain, a gloomy contrast to the brilliant sunshine they'd had up in Manchester. He had to put his bag over his head as he made his way home, the only hooded item he owned tucked deep inside it, and the summer storm didn't falter for one moment all the way there.

Stupidly, he started hoping for some sort of change or surprise once he got to number 26 Even a break-in would have given him something to bother about, but all he was greeted with was next door's dog, demented as ever, and a calm, if somewhat shabby, little living room once he got inside. An ugly grey hue painted the room from the weather outside, and it was cold and musty from not being lived in for four weeks.

He dumped his bag on the floor with a heavy sigh before hitting the Message button on the answering machine and heading upstairs to the bathroom, the house so small he could hear the voices all the way up the stairs. Nothing important, of course. Just one from his batty old Auntie Tilley who didn't know he'd been away, and another from his mum asking if he was back yet because she needed a blind putting up and her kitchen sink wanted seeing to if-you-don't-mind-darling.

Upon hearing this he paused in washing his hands and rested his head against the cold, toothpaste-spattered mirror, glaring into his own weary eyes. Nothing like the glamour of Gloucestershire to welcome you back home.

A torturous phone conversation with his mother and a late Pot Noodle tea later, he found himself sitting on his couch, bag at his feet, listening to a jumpy Joy Division record on low. Sirius had convinced him to give them a chance, so he'd dug out the old LP after dinner. He hadn't bothered to turn the lamp on yet, perhaps in some subconscious attempt to justify his gloom, and the only light as he unpacked was from the streetlights outside.

The first thing he did was place the large notebook aside so he could begin pulling out bundles of neatly-folded clothes. Everything needed to be washed and ironed so he chucked it all into one big pile before picking up the discarded notebook and lying back on his threadbare couch. He put a hand behind his head and used the other to turn the pages slowly, scouring the nonsense written in it.

He probably wouldn't show this to Frank, having used it for many things besides note-taking. It had become something of a scrapbook, filled mainly with silly paper games, Hangman and Consequences and Pictionary. There were whole pages devoted just to ridiculous scribbles, lyrics and pretty pointless quotes, riffs Sirius had tabbed out for him in his handsome scrawl, coded sentences that meant nothing to him now, and countless doodles that had seemed terribly witty at the time.

Then something he didn't recognise made him pause. As he went to bat a moth away, he saw it written there beneath one of James's quotes he'd jotted down for the article. Squinting at the message in the dim light of the room, he reached behind his head to pull the cord on the lamp.

With the help of the light, Remus saw with a surprised laugh what had been scribbled there: in loopy black biro was a smiley face, a kiss and a phone number.


	5. Chapter 5

_Since 1981, North London band Blue Stag have been making headlines for everything from sell-out concerts to public controversies to musical collaborations with some of the biggest names in rock._

_The band's first tour, in support of their self-titled debut album, resulted in fifty special edition double-albums and two controversial Grammy nominations in 1982. Though a number of UK dates were cancelled amidst rumours of an early breakup, my time spent with the band on their follow-up tour, promoting sophomore record_ Filthy Voice_, showed me first-hand that the four diverse men are close enough to work out their differences in favour of putting on an amazing show every time._

"Of course we have fall-outs,"_ front man James Potter tells me after the first gig of the tour, one which proved their double Grammy nomination was deserved, _"but people forget we've known each other for thirteen years. Reporters are on tenterhooks every time there's a tiny slip-up, but we're too close to let it affect our careers."

"He didn't really say that, did he?" Moody muttered, raising one eyebrow over the top of the paper.

Remus shifted in his seat. He glanced first at Frank beside him, then back at the greying manager across the table.

"Not in so many words," he admitted. There had been a slightly more lewd term than 'on tenterhooks', but the sentiment was the same.

Moody grunted, returning to the article, and Remus looked away uncomfortably, choosing instead to stare into the swirls of his tea. He hated being present when other people read his work, especially if they were one of the ones deciding whether or not it was going to be published. He would remember all of the things he disliked about it, things that he had been too near the deadline to change, or had had too much of a block with to do anything about.

Tapping at the yellow porcelain with his nail, an anxious thought entered his mind:_ do all of the quotes sound fake, or can only Moody tell? I couldn't have put them in as they were. I'm trying to _promote_ this band._

Suddenly, Moony demanded: "What do you mean by this?" His booming voice and flap of pages caused Remus to rattle his mug in surprise, splattering some of the scalding liquid on to his wrist.

"Lupin," Frank hissed, as though it were his fault. Remus cursed under his breath as he dabbed at his hand with a napkin and tried to focus on the outrageous words in question at the same time.

_The contrasting personalities of James Potter and childhood friend Sirius Black creates a remarkable dynamic..._

Really? He was going to take issue with that?

"Well," he said patiently, setting his napkin down, "they _are _childhood friends, aren't they?"

He tried offering Moody a smile, but it was dropped as soon as he saw the grizzly-haired man was not amused.

"I just mean opposites attract, you know, Lennon and McCartney? Jimmy Page and Robert Plant?" He paused. "The Carpenters?"

This last suggestion finally managed to pull a snort out of Moody, who dragged the paper back across the table. It seemed to take forever before he finished (he was more than likely reading each sentence at least twice) and when he did he slapped it down right into the small puddle of liquid still dribbling across the table.

"Alright," he said finally, "alright."

"Yeah?" Remus's chest seemed to deflate as he mirrored Frank's small sigh of relief and took the papers back.

"Your style leaves much to be desired, but the content's fine."

He paused in slipping the stained pages into his messenger bag. "Er. Thanks?"

"Get it copied. Send it to me. I'm taking the boys to a studio in Islington." He was talking to Frank now. "You tell me you don't have a photographer."

"Soundscape is a small enterprise," Frank explained in his most important voice,."We'd like one if, er... if only because getting photo rights can be a real nuisance."

The waitress in the Oxford café they had gathered in came over to the booth to take their cups, and Moody ordered another black coffee. Remus wondered if they were supposed to stick around too. After all, the manager didn't exactly seem to relish their company.

"I'll give it to the boys to read when I see them. They're not around today though. Potter's buggered off to _Miami _of all places," Moody grumbled, before adding with a shake of his head. "As though a three-month tour wasn't enough of a holiday."

"How are the others?" Remus asked tentatively.

"Fine," Moody replied. "Fabian and Peter were going to come but decided they could do with a little rest, poor things."

"And... Sirius?" He ignored Frank's warning look and offered Moody an expression of utmost innocence.

Moody grunted his reply to this, something which sounded suspiciously like "probably lying in a ditch somewhere", before knocking back his second cup of coffee like juice. Frank chuckled appreciatively, but Remus could only blink, unsure if it was supposed to be a joke or not. He wasn't even sure if Moody actually _had _a sense of humour. At any rate, it seemed a strange thing for the manager of a successful band to joke about.

Moody didn't seem interested in a conversation about the bassist, though.

"You say your magazine only sells in Gloucestershire?" he said to Frank.

"Yes," Frank replied hesitantly, throwing a quick glance at Remus for some kind of support. "For now. But that does cover Cheltenham, Tewkesbury –"

"Yes, I know the constituents of Gloucestershire, thank you."

Frank shut up.

"I want some response from your country kids, Mr Longbottom."

"We're the second highest-selling music magazine in Stroud," Frank said quickly. It was his proudest claim to date. He never mentioned that they were only fourth in Gloucester itself.

"I'm sick of these high-end publications wringing us for everything we've got," Moody snapped, as though suddenly overwhelmed by some repressed secret. He imitated his aggressors in an alarmingly high-pitched voice: _"Traipse halfway across the country to get to us_, they say, _and pay us to put you on the front page. Don't like it? We'll get someone else._ Six months ago NME offered my boys the cover for two hours with them, any question they fancied. I said no." He pointed an accusatory finger at Remus. "Do you know who they got instead? Stubby Boardman! I ask you!"

"Oh. Er, that's –"

"Outrageous!" Frank blurted. "I thought his band split up?"

"Some ghastly Memory Lane edition no doubt. Pathetic." Moody drained the rest of his cup and slammed it back down again, swiping a scarred wrist across his mouth. "I don't subject them to these promotional jollies for the good of my health, Lupin. We get a good response and I might just come back to you. The boys told me you were better than the other journalists. Trustworthy." He shot Remus a stern look.

"I'm not interested in selling anyone out," Remus replied, forcing himself to look Moody in the eye.

"No," Moody said finally, "I realise that."

"You can always trust Remus," said Frank cheerily, apparently undaunted by the silent acknowledgement of shared knowledge between the journalist and the manager. "That's why I chose him for you in the first place. Never let you down, this one."

Remus wasn't sure at which point he had become Frank Longbottom's well-trusted pal, but it was fairly amusing nonetheless. Much as he liked Frank, albeit in a strange sort of way, it was no secret that he had a different face for everyone he met.

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr Longbottom, and really, this has been lovely," Moody announced, as though he wasn't glad at all and it had been the least lovely thing in the world, "but I've a press conference to attend in an hour and I need to collect the three who didn't swan off to the States. Which means I need to find that useless Black first, and God knows how long that will take."

Remus wanted to tell him to stop picking on Sirius, that he probably got enough of that from James. Instead he offered him a small, almost sympathetic smile he immediately hated himself for and moved to stand as well.

"I'll have someone sent with the photographs. I don't trust the bloody postal services, and I don't want to see those prints anywhere else." He said it as though Remus and Frank were plotting to sell the photos on to the highest bidder.

Remus wondered if Moody had always been so paranoid, or if it came with being the manager of an untamed rock band. Perhaps he'd taken a leaf out of James's book. Or James had taken one out of his.

"Of course. It was a pleasure meeting you," Frank told him, thrusting a hand forwards. "A real honour."

That was pushing it a bit.

Moody took the offered hand, then encased Remus's own in an iron grip. Then with a flutter of pound notes and a swish of trench coat he was gone, the little café bell tinkling his exit.

"Odd man," Frank murmured, sifting through the notes with one hand. "Generous, though. Then again, he should be with the money that band makes for him. It's extortionate. I saw them on The Tube last night, did I tell you?" They left the café, stepping out into the blustery streets, and Remus wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck.

"I saw it too," he replied, digging his hands deep into his coat pockets as they started up the leaf-strewn pavement. The band had played well, a typical set with a suitably enthusiastic audience of awestruck teenagers, but their various states of undress and the dark substances smeared around their eyes had been somewhat distracting.

It had been rather disconcerting to see James, eyes spec-less and kohl-lined, doing his best Jagger impression, when he probably couldn't see a thing. And then there had been Sirius...

"How much do you reckon bands get paid for that show? Go on, how much?"

"Couple hundred?" Remus tried with a shrug.

"Five hundred _per head_. I mean, I know it doesn't sound much but it's two songs and they're done. So that was a grand a song for them last night." Frank paused to slip a hand into his pocket for his return ticket. "And they're nothing crashing."

Remus stopped his attempt to find his own card to look at the other man. "What do you mean?"

"Blue Stag. They're a bit..." Frank stuck his hand out flat in the air between them and rocked it from side to side. "Don't you think? Well, I think so anyway."

"You were so excited about the exclusive."

"Lupin, I said _I_ don't think they're crashing. That doesn't mean the maudlin teenagers of Gloucestershire agree with me." He raised his eyebrows slightly as they neared the Oxford station. "Melody Maker does, though. Did you see this weekend's review?"

"No. Which one?"

Frank looked at him, annoyed. "I thought I told you to start reading it? I know you think Melody Maker's gone too pop-oriented, but you're going to have to keep more of an eye on the competition, Lupin."

He flung an exasperated hand into the air, almost taking out a small woman trying to hurry past them in the process.

"The album review. Turns out _they _think it's a wreck. Tasteless, noisy and..." Frank wrinkled his nose, then shrugged. "Something else. I've a copy in my office, I'll let you have a look for yourself."

"But why would they say that?" Remus demanded. The woman who had nearly been victim to Frank's hand now glanced back at Remus in alarm. He ignored her.

"Everyone rated the first record and this one's hardly a huge leap. If anything, they matured completely. I _told_ you Melody Maker got too poppy. Honestly, they don't rate anything that isn't a couple of avant-garde freaks with a keyboard these days."

He didn't, of course, mention that prior to the tour he had been one of the ones who also saw Blue Stag as a sort of here-today-gone-tomorrow group of Sex Pistols wannabes. He'd been listening to their records on repeat for the past month, and while the music wasn't exactly groundbreaking, it sounded so much different coming from a record player than a concert stage. There were none of their impromptu jokes or improvisations to wade through, no screaming crowds, no messed up solos. He took more notice of the lyrics, the rhythms, had actually grown to appreciate their sound as something more than rage-fuelled noise.

So why couldn't Melody Maker?

"Calm down, Lupin," said Frank, looking slightly concerned. "I've never seen you so riled, not even when Fenwick confessed to having a deep-seated admiration for Yoko Ono. Why do you care so much?"

"I'm the one who spent a month with them. I _like _them."

"Well," Frank went on, completely ignoring him, "fortunately, our feature's less of a review and more of a personal account, so we shouldn't raise any fierce debate with differences. I checked a couple of other big names for reviews but there's nothing in Rolling Stone or NME. This month belongs to Black Sabbath. Fenwick's reviewing their new record. Heard it?"

Remus, irked, shook his head. Frank sighed again.

"For goodness' sake, Lupin, you need to –"

"Broaden my horizons, yes, I know."

Long fingers were snapped in Remus's face. "And less of that tone, thank you. Right, come on, the train'll be here in a minute. You can run me through Dorcas's design ideas. God knows I can't get a word in edgeways with her myself."

"_Tasteless and vulgar from the name of the record to the shameless sleeve photography. Our verdict? Keep your shirt _on_ next time, Mr Potter._"

Remus slapped the magazine down against his knees and glanced at the three pairs of eyes watching him. "See? All they care about are looks."

"I don't want James Potter to keep his shirt on anyway," Dorcas piped up, waving a nail file about to make her point.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Remus. Frank's got me reading that junk too. Last week they named Toni Basil as one of the greatest acts of all time." Benjy shrugged. "What can you do?"

"I just don't understand why these magazines insist on being so shallow all the time."

Remus flicked through the thin pages exasperatedly. He knew that magazines were becoming more and more about fashion and gossip than the music itself, but reading bitchy anecdotes about people he knew was much worse than when it concerned someone he'd only ever seen on a television screen.

"Earth to Remus? That's exactly how _we _are. We're a music magazine too, you know," Emmeline reminded him.

"We make valid musical points and offer our opinions on how a record could have been bettered. Never have we considered Fabian Prewett's hair colour important enough to write about. I mean, these people play straight into teenage girls' hands –"

"And that's why they sell millions of magazines and we don't. Face it, Remus, if we want to expand we're going to end up the same way. All that juicy stuff you undoubtedly uncovered about Blue Stag and had to leave out will come in very handy."

Benjy was only saying it to wind Remus up, but he stiffened nonetheless, throwing the blond man an irritated glance. From his first day back at work weeks ago he'd been on at Remus for inside information. At first, favourite drinks, sleeping patterns and bad habits had sufficed. Now he was pestering for further titbits, relationships and arguments, as though _he_were one of those teenage girls. There were only so many ways Remus could say "no, Sirius Black does not have a girlfriend" without making the truth very obvious.

If only he hadn't wandered so far down that hotel corridor, he'd be as oblivious as Benjy.

"You got everything out of me already," he lied, tossing the magazine back on to his desk, "so when you sell your soul, feel free to write as much about their preferred brand of cigarettes as you like."

Benjy replied with a lazy laugh, sending his chair back on to two legs and resting his arms behind his head. "You'll sell out," he said wisely. "It happens."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Well, until then," he said, pushing himself away from his desk and patting his jeans pockets for his keys and wallet, "I'm off. I have to go to the White Hart tonight."

He welcomed the thought of leaving work, but almost grimaced at the idea of the evening's destination. Anything that Frank dubbed 'Sonny-and-Cher-esque' was bound to be painful.

"The folk duo?"

"That's the one."

"Might come down later. Join you for a pint if they're any cop."

"I wouldn't count on it," Remus said dryly. He shrugged his jacket on, then glanced at the magazine and swiped it off the desk into the drawer. "They're environmentalists."

He left the office with a clatter of the glass door and embarked on a very brisk walk home, head down in the rain. As he went, trudging through the deep puddles flooding the streets of Gloucester, he cast his mind back to the scathing review.

He found himself wondering, with some annoyance at his own inability to stop thinking about the band, if Sirius had seen it too. Of course, being the chilled, laidback person that he was, this was unlikely (Sirius had never once expressed any interest in reviews), but Remus had never really thought about bad reviews before. He'd given them, of course, but only now did he think about how terrible it must feel for your hard work to be publicly slated, vilified for all to see. He imagined receiving a report every time he published an article, and the thought of how much pressure that would put him under made him feel more than a bit guilty.

Once home, after shoving his jacket down on the couch and scrubbing a towel through his soaked hair, he paused in his search for food to consider the phone number stuck to the fridge with a little more seriousness. Say Sirius _had_ seen the Melody Maker review – would he be angry? Would he need reassurance? Had he even read _Remus's _article?

He reached to tug the paper, held up by alphabet magnets, from the fridge.

_You're not obliged to ring it_, an irritating voice piped up in his mind as he stared at the inked digits, wringing the towel in his hand, _Stop trying to think up reasons to call._

It was true, of course. He'd been hankering for a reason to punch the numbers into the phone ever since he'd found the note, and that had been more than two weeks ago. He'd hoped showing Moody the article would have provided the perfect opportunity, but none of the band had been there and now he was back to thinking up excuses.

_He did give me the number, he might _want_ me to call, _he argued to himself feebly.

_You have your mother's telephone number_, the voice snapped back, _but you don't actively seek _her_ out_.

He was being absurd. Why was this so difficult? Sirius gave him the bloody number! But then, maybe Sirius wouldn't care either way. Sirius probably wouldn't even remember giving it to him._ "Remus? Where do I know you from again? The tour? Ah yes... of course..."_

It was a horrible idea, not to mention completely ridiculous, but what if he was right? What if Sirius struggled to even remember his name?

But then the irritating voice returned._ So what? If he forgets, he forgets. What was it Alice Faye said in _Hello, Frisco, Hello_? If you don't try, you'll never know._

Was it really time to take advice from 1940s musicals, Remus wondered? He gave the phone number one last glance. Yes. Yes it was. With a sudden determination he rarely displayed, the same one he used before jumping into deep water or checking his bills, he grabbed the phone from the wall, punched in the numbers with hardly a glance at the paper - memorized from a fortnight's worth of staring each morning at breakfast - and determinedly pressed the receiver to his ear.

But soon the ring sounded and he started to have doubts again, coming back into himself. What on earth was he going to say anyway? "Don't cry, Sirius. Melody Maker got too pop-oriented anyway"? In fact, what if this wasn't even Sirius's number? The Lord knew he had a weird sense of humour. What if it was James's or Moody's or the bus driver's? God forbid, what if it belonged to -

"Hello?" A man picked up, but it wasn't Sirius.

Remus opened his mouth to speak, staring at the empty space on the fridge where the note had been. He didn't say a word. The man repeated himself, and Remus abruptly slammed the phone down, skin burning in embarrassment.

Either he had been right in thinking Sirius had given him the wrong number, or he had been stupid in assuming Sirius would be alone. The voice had been smooth, older but clearly posh just judging from those two "hello"s.

He was probably rich. And a model.

But as Remus turned to try and busy himself with the gas stove in a bid to forget his humiliation, the phone started ringing again, almost causing him to spill water everywhere. He thought about ignoring it. What if it was the model, wanting to give him a piece of his mind? But then, what if it was someone important? Frank calling to tell him he didn't have to go and see Sonny and Cher after all, for example? His dear mum, having tripped over the dustpan and fallen again? He'd surely never forgive himself if he didn't answer.

Slowly, he picked the phone back up.

"... Hello?"

"Remus?"

Remus blinked. "Sirius?"

"Yeah, I thought it might be you. What happened?"

Sirius knew he'd hung up. How embarrassing.

"I –"

"Did you get cut off? Annoying, isn't it? Or was it George? Sometimes he hangs up if he thinks it's, you know, a fan. Or someone mental."

"No, I... George?" George. Not a name he would have associated with a model, but...

"My housekeeper? He always answers the phone."

"You have a butler?" Remus blurted out before he could stop himself.

Sirius laughed and Remus felt a surprisingly strong twist of nostalgia in his stomach at the sound. It was pretty weird hearing him on the phone, although he didn't sound any different from normal. Same husky voice, same Southern drawl.

"Yeah, if you like. I wouldn't have rung back but I hoped it might be you. What happened? You didn't call for ages!"

Remus leant against the fridge, beginning to relax. Sirius giving him the wrong number? What a daft idea, whoever thought that one up.

"I thought you might be busy," he said, "when I saw you on The Tube. Which was really great by the way, and... how was the rest of the tour?"

"Excellent," Sirius replied unconvincingly. "How's Gloucester?"

Remus peered out of the kitchen window, his spare hand now beginning to fiddle with the alphabet fridge magnets. It was a nervous habit of his and pretty much the only thing he used the letters for. He deftly arranged the letters into the word _rain_.

"Wet," he answered.

"James is in Miami."

"Yes, so I've heard. Lucky him."

"Are you taking me up on my offer soon?"

Remus paused in twirling the orange R between his fingers.

"Which?" he said, as though he hadn't a clue.

"I wanted you to come here, remember? I said we'd do something."

He had remembered, of course, he just didn't want Sirius to think he was eager, or that he had been counting the days off on his calendar or something equally uncool. His pleasure that Sirius had even remembered at all was pretty pathetic.

"I remember. That sounds good," he said, trying to sound interested and nonchalant all at once, as though hanging out with Sirius Black was just one-of-those-things.

"Great! When?"

"Well..." He wanted to say _now_. He wanted Sirius to know how fun and adventurous and spontaneous he could be. Then he remembered the folk band that wanted reviewing.

"Soon?" Sirius prompted.

"It's just, work –"

"You don't work at the weekends, do you? This weekend then."

"Sirius."

The green D fell to the floor and Remus tutted loudly, bending to pick it up.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, I just dropped the D."

"The what?"

His fingers scraped the letter and succeeded in pushing it further away. He made another exasperated noise. "The green D off my fridge. It's gone under the tin cupboard," he said before he could stop himself.

There came a pause and then, with a smile evident in his voice, Sirius said, "It's really good to hear you."

Still crouched, Remus allowed himself to fall the rest of the short distance down to the tiled floor and rest his head against the leg of the table. He gave up on the D, lost beneath the counter, and couldn't keep the smile from his face as he wrung the cord of the phone around a finger. There was no need to mention bad reviews after all.

"It's good to hear you, too."


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings: **None

* * *

><p>"I like your house!"<p>

Sirius offered Remus a good-natured grin as they stood before the dreary two-up two-down, twirling his car keys, black hair plastered to his forehead from the rain. He'd had it cut, and when he'd strolled into the Soundscape offices an hour or so before, it had been swept into some elaborate I've-honestly-just-rolled-out-of-bed style, complete with thick red bandana.

Even now, drenched, it managed to look impossibly cool. Just as well, Remus thought, to go with his impossibly cool this-is-nothing outfit of tight drainpipes and patent combat boots, and his impossibly cool I-only-use-this-for-when-I'm-out-and-about black Pontiac Firebird.

Remus had had his hair cut too. The curls had been cropped like a choir boy's. He didn't own a car or a driveway, and presently his house was a tip. If Remus had believed that the gods would allow Sirius Black to once, just once, see him as something other than a total embarrassment of a man, he had been tragically mistaken.

Still, Sirius was being a good sport about it. After all, it was his fault. He was the one who'd arrived six hours early. "Hope you don't mind, I was a bit bored at home," he'd said airily, gazing around the office having just announced that he'd gone to Remus's home first but, upon receiving no answer there, thought he "might be dead".

And Remus hadn't minded, hadn't minded at all. Quite the opposite in fact: he'd felt secretly ecstatic that Sirius had not only managed to turn up, he'd turned up _early_. Willingly. But then Emmeline and Dorcas had started badgering Sirius, fawning over him with wide, starstruck eyes. Frank had started pestering him too. And then Sirius insisted on escorting Remus to his house to get his stuff, and the whole thing was going downhill, straight towards total humiliation, terrifyingly quickly.

The Lord only knew what would have happened if Benjy had dragged himself into work that day, but Remus figured it would probably be something involving a chloroform rag and a number of high speed car chases.

"It's very small," Remus mumbled, warily eyeing next door's dog glaring at them through the window, drooling, like some deranged circus act.

"I don't care, I'm dying to see it. I grew up in a house like this."

"Did you?"

"Well." A pause. "It was terraced."

Remus resisted the urge to scoff. Yeah, terraced and about five storeys high, no doubt. But it was nice of Sirius to try and pretend Remus's home wasn't complete and utter crap. He pushed open the garden gate and let Sirius go first, closing it securely behind them on the off-chance Cujo next door managed to break free.

"Right then," he said, taking a deep breath and unlocking the door, letting it swing open. "Here we are."

Sirius stepped in first, hands deep in his jeans pockets as he gazed at every dip and curve like a curious kid in an old junk shop. It was too dark to see anything properly, and when Remus reluctantly fumbled for the light switch and flicked it on, Sirius blinked in the sudden light.

"Hey! It's me!"

And _this _was precisely why Sirius's early arrival – as well as Remus's total lack of motivation to do any housework – had its downsides. Figuring he was going to get home from the offices prior to Sirius coming to pick him up at 5 o'clock that day, Remus hadn't seen the point in shifting any of the junk until he'd returned home.

_I'll have a good three hours to get stuff shifted_, he'd thought naively, _yeah, get everything shifted and some stuff packed_.

But no, there it was for them both to gaze upon. Not quite Benjy's demented shrine behind his desk at work, but definitely getting there. Dozens of Blue Stag prints were strewn across the coffee table, which in itself was surrounded by the band's LPs and various magazines flipped open to the pages they were featured on.

Of course, there were posters of other musicians in the room, and all sorts of tat and memorabilia of other musicians, but since the table was the centre piece of the room and about fifty Siriuses were peering out at, well, Sirius, that was the thing he noticed first.

"I wasn't doing anything weird," Remus blurted out, which did only serve to make him sound incredibly weird. Voodoo-obsessed. Mark Chapman in the making. "Dorcas was over last night, we were going over the final design for the article."

He ran a nervous hand through the freshly cropped scrub of curls on his head. It wasn't a lie, yet somehow he felt like he was being dishonest, like Sirius couldn't possibly believe he wasn't just stalking him with ill intentions.

Remus supposed then was a good time to stumble into the room and sweep the prints up, kicking magazines closed as he went, but Sirius ambled in behind him at a more leisurely pace. He leant down to swipe one of the photographs up before Remus could grab it and flopped down on to the couch.

"God, I look good," he murmured, grinning. His eyes darted around the rest of the room then, and he gave a little nod of approval. "I'm liking what you've done with the place. Very cosy. Are those _all _yours?"

Remus knew it looked like a teenager's bedroom, minus the bed, but if Sirius thought so he didn't say anything, and when Remus followed his line of vision to behind himself he saw Sirius was staring at the records in the alcoves, four shelves in both and each one packed with vinyls.

"Yes. Yeah, they're all mine."

Sirius stood, leaving the print behind, forgotten. Regaining his child-like composure, he approached the left-hand alcove as though it were very secretive and special, and Remus suddenly came to the rather surreal realisation that Blue Stag bassist Sirius Black was in his crappy house, peering at his records.

"There must be thousands." There were more upstairs.

Remus huffed out a laugh. "Maybe not quite, but... getting there."

"You must get them through work, right?" Sirius had plucked one out now, Bob Dylan's _Blonde on Blonde_, a particular favourite of Remus's.

He shrugged, noticing he still had all the prints bundled up in his arms and dropping them into the nearby armchair.

"Not too many. And the ones I do get aren't much cop, just little independent records. No, I've bought most of these myself." He gestured to the room around them and added by way of a feeble joke, "Hence the poor state of the building they're housed in."

Sirius didn't seem to hear him. He ran his finger along the top of the Dylan record, thumb toying with the loose fluffy cardboard in the corner.

"I thought I had a lot when I was a kid," he said softly. "Zeppelin two and three, _Rocket to Russia_ and _Wish You Were Here_. I had _Dark Side of the Moon_ too at one point, but my mother snapped it. Wouldn't have them in the house." He gave a little laugh and slid the record back into its place on the shelf. "Thought I'd done well to keep those hidden. But _this... _Remus, this is a mighty collection."

Remus thought about his own parents' reactions to his attachment to music. His mother had treated it as something endearing, amusing almost, and she'd always come in and ask what he was listening to, be it Joni Mitchell or David Bowie, Queen or Fleetwood Mac. The thought of her snapping one of his records was unimaginable, mainly because she probably didn't even have the physical strength, but also because music meant so much to him. Music meant a lot to any teenager, especially in the 70s.

In the stillness that followed Remus looked to Sirius, expecting to find a flicker of sadness in his expression. There was nothing but curiosity, maybe even awe, as he examined the alcoves in silence.

"Can I get you anything?" Remus asked suddenly, remembering his manners. "Drink?"

"I'm alright actually, but I'm dying for a fag." Sirius finally turned to him. "D'you mind?"

"Sure. There's a garden."

He led him through the kitchen (thankfully he'd done the washing up last night and so only his teacup from that morning remained on the draining board) and out to the little patio. It was chilly and wet from the rain, but Sirius didn't seem to mind, quickly sliding a cigarette from a crumpled packet of Benson & Hedges, lighting up and taking a long, indulgent drag.

"I wanted this as soon as I got here –" he paused while he blew smoke, "– but I thought your boss might shank me with his perfectly shaven pencils if I dared smoke in your little office."

"I'm sorry about him," said Remus, "and the girls. They can be a little, er, intense sometimes. Being as it is, we don't get to meet a lot of... a lot of bands like yours."

"Bands like mine?" said Sirius, a little smile playing on his lips.

"You know what I mean, Sirius," Remus replied, kicking idly at the crumbling stone cladding, hands in his pockets. It's always independent folk duos and crappy teenage punk bands looking for a deal. This article is – it's kind of a big deal for us."

Sirius took the cigarette from his lips, exhaling smoke and looking at Remus for a few long moments.

"It's a big deal for us too. Not like James would have anyone else write about us like this. I can't wait to see it." He accompanied this last part with a little punch on Remus's shoulder, before replacing the fag between his lips. "Now go on, go get your stuff. Don't want to hit the rush hour traffic. I'll stay here and... enjoy the view."

Glancing at the cracked patio and scrub of lawn, vaguely aware that Sirius was taking the piss, Remus slunk back inside and crossed the kitchen, another little buzz erupting in his stomach. He tried to remind himself that they were friends – they were _friends_, the words had left Sirius's own lips for goodness' sake – but a part of him still couldn't help thinking it: when he was old, when he had nothing left, at least he could say to somebody, "You know Sirius Black? Well, one time, he smoked a fag on my patio."

* * *

><p>"So how's work?" Sirius asked, once they were finally on to the motorway and no longer in danger of dying in a horrific crash.<p>

Remus liked Sirius's car. He'd liked Firebirds ever since he saw _Smokey and the Bandit _as a teenager. He liked the shiny black leather, the dark windows, the countless dials that did the Lord only knew what. But he did not like Sirius's driving. Considering he had neither the money nor confidence to start driving himself yet, he walked or bussed it everywhere, and television adverts for modest little Ford Fiestas and Renaults were the extent of his experience with automobiles.

He didn't feel safe until they were on to the M4, when Sirius no longer had the opportunity to wing it round Gloucester lanes making seriously inappropriate zooming noises, and only now was Remus able to remove his hand from the passenger door and talk in a somewhat calm voice.

"Quiet," he said truthfully, stretching his legs out a little and enjoying the luxurious amount of space before him, "but fine. Enough to be getting on with."

"Yeah? Scouted any hot new talent?"

Remus scoured his depressingly sparse mind. "Reviewed a neofolk band a couple of days ago."

"Oh?"

"Called themselves 'Orgasm of the Apocalypse'."

Sirius laughed. "Get out!"

"Something tells me they won't make the cut."

Sirius laughed again, and Remus relished in the sound that he hadn't heard in what seemed like months. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed him. In the time they'd been apart, he thought he just missed hanging out with someone who wasn't Benjy, or someone whose interests stretched beyond cider and Gloucestershire FA.

But Sirius's bark of a laugh gave him a similar feeling to the one he'd get when he'd find a record from his teenage years in a shop, buy it and rush home to stick it on; he'd feel a pang in his stomach at the refreshed memory, the lovely bubbly nostalgia. Now he smiled across at him, and Sirius met his eyes and smiled back.

"And you?" said Remus. "How are things?"

"Dull," Sirius answered simply, eyes back on the road. "I hate that period after a tour where we don't _do _anything. Me and Fab and Pete want to start work on the next record just for something to actually be getting on with, but of course we can't really do anything until James says so. He got back last night though, so hopefully -"

He broke off to swear rather violently when a Vauxhall Cavalier undertook them, weaving between lanes.

"Fucking hate motorways," he spat.

He seemed to have lost his thread now, not elaborating any further on the topic of the new record. Then Duran Duran's 'Rio' came on the radio and, road rage suddenly forgotten, Sirius rammed the volume up with glee. He reached across to get to the glove box, pulling out an expensive pair of Aviators and making Remus grin by singing along heartily with Stephen Duffy: "Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand – come on, Remus!"

As they sped onwards into Greater London, he found himself excited – perhaps disturbingly so for a man his age – to see what Sirius's home looked like. He imagined some ultra-modern flat in Kensington or Covent Garden, one of those apartment blocks right in the open and yet totally untouchable, with American-style fridge-freezers and modern art hanging in the hallways.

But once they were off the motorway and in London, and had finally managed to make it through the mad traffic, Remus found they were in Kentish town, and he wondered why he'd thought Sirius would live anywhere _but_ Camden. They didn't draw up outside an apartment block either, rather a charming townhouse, three storeys, white stone along the ground floor walls and five white sash windows. It was like something out of _Breakfast at Tiffany's_.

Sirius shut off the engine, abruptly cutting off Toto's 'Africa' which he'd been enthusiastically joining in with, and raised his eyebrows at Remus with a little smile. He slipped his Aviators into the front of his t-shirt.

"Home, sweet home."

Unlike Remus's dingy little house, Sirius's front hall was light and airy, of course decorated with Victorian checkerboard tiles. There was a wide staircase to the right, two doors along the left and what looked to be the kitchen at the far end. There wasn't much on the walls. In fact the only decoration seemed to be an alarmingly overweight cat, perched on the post at the foot of the stairs. It stared at them as they entered.

"Hello, Achilles!" Sirius gushed, as though he hadn't seen the cat for days. He scooped him up with surprising ease, hugging him close, the paws sticking out at odd angles as the creature blinked slowly. "Say hello to Remus." He pushed Achilles towards Remus's face and the cat meowed ruefully, much to Sirius's delight.

"I found him hanging out here when I moved in," Sirius explained. "He has a messed up foot. Can't get any proper exercise, bless him. You can't, can you, Achilles? No you can't!" For a hardened rock star, his voice changed from gruff to babyish surprisingly quickly.

Remus took a couple of steps back. "I'm sorry for being awkward, Sirius, but I'm allergic to cats." He could already feel a sneeze coming on now, pathetic plebeian that he was.

Sirius lowered Achilles in his arms slightly, expression of adoration gone from his face, replaced with utter disappointment. Even the cat wore the same expression. Oh no. Not only had he already pissed Sirius Black off in his own home, he'd gone and rained on Achilles' parade too.

"Of course you are," Sirius deadpanned, before heaving a dramatic sigh and allowing Achilles to step on to the floor and slouch off into the front room.

"I didn't know you had a cat. Sorry."

"Well, you'll just have to keep out of his way. Anyway, come on. Let me give you the Grand Tour."

The 'Grand Tour' consisted of Sirius pointing vaguely at rooms and stating their purpose - living, dining, food - before making for the stairs, bounding up them two at a time.

"Sirius, your house is really nice," Remus said politely. And it _was _really nice, but it wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting. Nothing really screamed 'Sirius'. It was all rather tidy, rather neat, more like something out of a catalogue or showroom. Then again, that wasn't to say he didn't envy the Georgian masterpiece, especially when considering his own 1960s terrace.

"Thanks," said Sirius, walking them along the first floor hallway and pushing one of the white doors open. "I thought you might like this one. You can choose another if you don't, but it's the second biggest."

"It's lovely. Thanks."

"You can just leave your stuff here. Don't worry, the cat never goes in there." Sirius pulled the door to, then pointed to the one a few down. "That one's mine. But come on, I want to show you something else."

And then he took Remus' hand – actually took him by the hand – and led him up the final staircase. When they reached the top, they weren't presented with another corridor but one huge room; the attic. The floorboards were exposed and polished, and the only light came from a large circular window on the far wall. The roof, naturally, was slanted, with beams dotted around the room to help support it.

And everywhere was _stuff_.

Patterned and animal-skin rugs strewn across the floors and exotic lanterns hanging from the ceiling; sofas here and there, Chesterfields with coloured blankets draped across the back; a large damask coffee table; fitted shelves along the left wall, crammed with books and records and photographs, and the right wall filled with bass guitars, acoustic guitars, even a banjo. A large fireplace stood aside from the window, its mantelpiece home to a Chopin bust, several award trophies, more photographs, a wooden giraffe, an expensive-looking record player balanced on the hearth.

There was more, but Remus found it impossible to take it all in at once.

"This is... so cool," he breathed, almost blushing when he realised how much of a gawky teenager he sounded.

Sirius seemed pretty pleased all the same.

"Take a seat. Do you want anything?"

He was actually craving tea but he couldn't really say that, could he, say, "Cheers for the ride in your Firebird, Sirius, could I have a nice cup of tea?" So he opted for the same as Sirius and then, beers in hand, with Remus perched on a Chesterfield and Sirius sat cross-legged on the rug before him, they talked.

For the next hour or so, Sirius told him all about the rest of the tour, ideas they were tossing around for the next music video, other magazine coverage they'd had to pay for, the talk of going to America next year.

"We've been to the States before obviously for the Grammys," he said, "but it'd be fucking brilliant to tour there. Place is huge. Never really got a chance to see it properly in LA. Think of the venues!"

Remus imagined being given free trips to the USA, to stay for five, maybe six months at a time, and for a short moment wished he'd bothered to pursue a career in music. _America_, he thought wistfully, _land of opportunity_.

Well, it was a far cry from Gloucestershire at any rate.

Sirius was midway through an elaborate tale on the Whisky a Go Go, gesticulating wildly, enthusiasm and sharp quips making Remus laugh, when the stairs creaked, footsteps sounding there. Remus started, yet Sirius barely even blinked. The head appearing in the stairwell was more than a little alarming but when Sirius glanced over he just gave a lazy smile.

"I thought you were back," the person said, coming all the way up.

"A couple of hours ago," Sirius replied, before tossing a nod towards Remus. "Remus, this is George. George, Remus. He's my housekeeper."

"Well, more like a personal assistant these days."

"Or maybe a butler?" Sirius suggested, grinning up at Remus who felt himself blush like an idiot.

He quickly stood and took hold of George's offered hand. So _this _was who he'd hung up on. He didn't look like a butler, and as it turned out he definitely didn't look like a model either. He seemed a perfectly ordinary bloke, in jumper and jeans, mid-40s at a push.

"Pleasure to meet you," said George. "Sirius is forever singing your praises."

Rather than looking embarrassed at this, as Remus undoubtedly would if the roles were reversed, Sirius appeared almost smug, lounging there on the floor, propped up on his elbows. He couldn't imagine Sirius singing his praises at all, and he masked his glee with a small laugh and a modest, "That's nice to hear."

George turned his attentions back to Sirius. "James is here. I'll send him up, shall I?"

Remus was rather ashamed at the surge of disappointment in the pit of his stomach at the mention of James's name.

_I didn't know _he_ was coming_, he thought, before quickly scolding himself for thinking like a petulant child. He could hardly expect Sirius to spend the whole weekend with him and him alone, could he?

Sirius wasn't disappointed at all. He grinned and scrambled to his feet.

"No worries," he said, "I'll go."

He bounded towards the staircase, beer bottle still in hand, only calling back, "come on, Remus!" when he was halfway down. Feeling awkward, offering a small smile to George, he followed Sirius at a much slower pace.

_Oh God_, he agonized, _like James will want to see me. He'll wonder what the hell I'm doing here_.

Indeed, when they were down in the foyer and Sirius had thrown his arms around a magnificently tanned James and they'd given one another the appropriate number of manly pats on the back (so now they were on Good Terms, were they?), James blinked at Remus from behind his specs – the ones he only wore when he wasn't going to be seen by the public eye – and offered him a surprised, "Alright, Rem... Remus?"

It was pretty humiliating to have James Potter almost forget his name, but there wasn't really much reason why he should remember it. Who was he, after all? Just that scrawny little journalist who tagged along with them that-one-time. And alright, perhaps he knew the band's secret - that big secret fucking everything up - but hey, what did that count for?

Clearly he was hugely insignificant, and probably a huge liability. James had probably come round to get wankered or something. He'd probably come round to "party". What did Remus know about getting wankered and partying? He'd demonstrated his lack of expertise in that area on the tour already.

"Remus is staying for the weekend," Sirius said cheerfully.

"I didn't realise you'd kept in touch," said James, and Remus could have sworn his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and it was clear he was starting to remember.

Apparently not noticing, Sirius cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, course. Why not?"

James shrugged and turned away from Remus, back towards his best friend, and Remus suddenly felt very apart from them, the _spare_ part. Watching them reunite, joke together, grinning, Sirius's hand touching James's arm every time he made a point, it was clear they were very much in their own little Celebrity Bubble, and Remus was just standing there with Achilles lurking by his feet and George coming down the stairs behind him. The three of them: a journalist, a servant, and a disabled cat, looking on at the rock stars. What was he even _doing _here?

But then they went back up to the attic, Sirius put on some music and got them some more to drink, and James warmed up a little, even offering Remus a few little anecdotes from Miami, and for a while it seemed like maybe he didn't mind Remus being there so much. _And if he does mind_, Remus told himself with forced confidence as he stared down the neck of his bottle, _then... then that's not my problem, he'll just have to put up with it_.

This determination didn't last long though. After ordering them Thai, keeping them entertained with his playful conversation, plying them with several more cans of Carling, Sirius decided he wanted to go out.

Remus hesitated at this. It would have been stupid to expect Sirius to stick around with him all evening and - do what? Play board games? Toast marshmallows? Even so, he wasn't as thrilled about the prospect of "clubbing it" with James Potter and Sirius Black. He'd never been very good at "clubbing it". That wasn't to say he didn't know how to drink. He was from the West Country, of course he knew how to drink. It wasn't that he was a devastatingly cloistered nerd either, but Remus's idea of a good night was definitely a lot cheaper than Blue Stag's. He had a feeling it would be distinctly different from piss-ups on the tour bus too.

"Up for it then, Remus? Camden?"

"I haven't got anything to wear." It had sounded like a joke in his head, but out loud he just sounded petty.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Find something."

But then he went off for a shower, and James left to watch television downstairs, and Remus was left in the bright white guest room, wondering what the hell he was going to put on, and why the hell he'd had his hair cut, and why the hell he wasn't more excited that he was going out in London with Sirius Black.

The man himself padded into the room half an hour later looking decidedly wonderful. He smelt of expensive soapy aftershave, his hair was dry and deliberately messy, body clad in skin-tight jeans and a white wife-beater to show off his tattoos and bass-toned arms, dog tags dangling down his chest.

Remus stared, momentarily breathless at how fantastic someone could look and how much like a scrubby vagrant he could feel at the same time.

"Thought I told you to find something?" said Sirius. He glanced at the mess of fabric on the bed, but he didn't really sound mad.

"I don't have anything. All my clothes are rubbish."

"Come on, you must do." Sirius reached for the clothes strewn about but Remus stopped him, hating the thought of him scrutinizing his wardrobe.

"I honestly don't. I can't go out with you looking like that and me like this."

"You look fine!"

Remus made sure his expression said it all. He was glad James wasn't around, otherwise he'd have been far too embarrassed to voice his concerns. Somehow he knew Sirius wouldn't laugh at him.

"If you're that bothered," said Sirius, "you can wear something of mine. We're about the same size."

They were both skinny, but Sirius was a different kind of thin to Remus; he was lean, toned, broad-shouldered. Remus was just a string bean. Still, he allowed Sirius to steer him into his own bedroom – a disappointingly modern, square room, the only marks of personality being the guitar in the corner and the piles of clothes on the floor – watching as Sirius rifled through the remaining outfits in the large walk-in wardrobe.

As predicted, when he tugged on the t-shirt Sirius offered to him it hung off his shoulders and made him look like some sort of tragic orphan, despite the expensive label. Sirius squinted, apparently unable to figure out why it wouldn't fit properly. Then his eyes lit up with a new idea, and when he bounded back into the wardrobe he came out clutching something small and black and white. He chucked it at Remus.

"Try this."

Remus held it up before him. It was a tiny thing, stripy, with three-quarter length sleeves. Definitely not something of Sirius's. Remus raised his eyebrows. He wasn't entirely sure he fancied wearing something belonging to a celebrity's one night stand.

"It's pretty clean," said Sirius, running a hand through his hair and mussing it up a little, glancing at himself in the mirror behind Remus. "I think."

"Sirius, was this... did this belong to a, er, friend of yours?"

"I suppose. Why? Do you mind?"

"I..." Remus stopped, not wanting to make more fuss. Suppressing a sigh, he shucked the t-shirt off and pulled the new one on. It was terribly snug and felt a bit funny against his nipples, but when he peered at himself in the mirror he had to admit he kind of liked how it looked.

Sirius gave a low whistle. "Check you out, Lupin. You actually have a _body _beneath all those clothes."

Remus scoffed, trying not to blush, pretending to mind, and then Sirius came up behind him and slapped his palms against his hips. Remus jumped a little, startled by the contact. He wasn't used to the feeling of warm hands there. His eyes met Sirius's grey ones in the mirror, and the musician gave him a lopsided grin.

"So," he said, "shall we see if he left any jeans?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Warnings:** OMC

* * *

><p>The King's Arms was a tiny, smoky sort of place, all winding staircases and slanted ceilings and exposed brickwork. Posters and flyers for obscure punk bands were plastered all over the walls – Hüsker Dü, Black Flag, Minutemen – creased and peeling. There was one tiny bar, a few tables and chairs scattered about, and only a handful of people in the place.<p>

"What are you having?" Sirius asked, sliding an arm around Remus to push him towards the bar.

Remus turned his gaze from the flyers. He was utter wank when it came to trendy drinks, and this place was Trendy with a capital T.

"Erm. I'll have whatever you having," he said quickly.

"I'm having lager," Sirius replied. He was grinning, but Remus didn't really see what was funny. Maybe he looked stupid. Maybe it was the shirt. He plucked at it uncomfortably. It was probably the shirt.

A can of Red Stripe was shoved into his hand, and when the three of them sat down at a table with mismatching chairs, James looked around the place with a fond gaze. "Nice to be back," he said.

Sirius hummed his agreement around his first sip. "Nowhere like King's in Miami, James."

"That's true," James agreed. "Everything is cheaper there, though. Booze is cheaper. Lils splashed out on this awful raspberry Sambuca every night we were there."

"They made you pay for your own drinks?" said Remus.

"I'm not, shall we say, of sufficient fame to demand free alcohol yet, no. In the States, at least." He reached across the table to jog Sirius's arm. "But soon, eh, mate? Soon?"

Then he turned to Remus, bespectacled eyes glancing up and down at him.

"It's not that people don't know us there," he said quickly. "They do. It's just harder when you're not really mainstream."

"It took the Beatles a few years to conquer America," Remus said kindly, but he soon realised what a stupid thing that was to say. After all, Blue Stag weren't exactly comparable to the Beatles, were they?

"Exactly!" The frontman sounded pleased. He gave a little sigh and glanced down into the froth of his drink. "Everything takes time."

Glancing up again, he nudged Sirius and motioned behind him with his glass.

"Look who's here."

Remus twisted around to follow their line of view. Two people, a man and a woman, were making their way to the bar, chatting to one another as they did. They were tall, fair-haired and striking in their dark get-up, the man swaggering in a lounge suit, the woman teetering on spiky heels.

"Spare me," Sirius muttered, searching his pockets for a cigarette. James called them over anyway.

They were obviously friends of the band, but from where Remus wasn't told. There was Marlene, very pretty with hair cut to look like Cyndi Lauper, who was "in journalism", and handsome Caradoc who, as far as Remus could gather, did nothing and lived off his parents' backs.

"Remus," Marlene drawled when Sirius introduced them, sliding her slight self into the seat next to him. "That's an interesting name. Is it your _real _name?"

Her pale fingers wrapped around Sirius's pint glass and she lifted it to take a demure sip. Remus immediately disliked her.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he said in a quieter voice than he'd intended.

"Well _I _don't know. What is it you do?"

"He's a journalist too," James pitched in.

For a moment Marlene's smirk disappeared She folded her arms, suddenly interested.

"Oh? For whom? The Fly?"

Remus looked at her, resisting the urge to scowl. _No, not the bloody _Fly_. Not _NME_ or _Melody Maker_ or The Fly. I write for _Soundscape_. That renowned magazine _Soundscape_._

"You probably won't have heard of it," he mumbled, and when the blonde woman raised her thinly plucked eyebrows, unimpressed, he added, "It's only based in Gloucestershire."

"Ohhh," she drawled in that infuriating London burr, exchanging a look with Caradoc, red lips pursed. "I thought I recognised the accent. So. What are you doing there?"

"Marlene," said Sirius, but he didn't really seem to mind. He was searching for a lighter, barely paying attention.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it in a bad way," said Marlene, even though she did. "All the best names are in London though. I didn't think there was a big music scene in Gloucestershire."

"Yeah," Remus said slowly, since no one else seemed interested in sticking up for him, "that's kind of the point. We're trying to make there be one."

Marlene's lips formed an 'o' shape, as though she really didn't care. Why would she anyway? She probably couldn't even find Gloucestershire on a map, stupid cow.

Sirius found a lighter and she took it from him, lighting a cigarette of her own.

"Remus came on tour with us," Sirius said finally, giving her an irritated look, hand still in mid-air, empty. He lowered it. "He wrote about us."

"So what's he doing here?"

Her kohl-rimmed eyes flicked from Remus to Sirius, and then she gave the bassist an odd look and took a long drag.

"I want him here," Sirius said simply, then noticing Marlene had laid claim to his drink, he narrowed his eyes once more. "I'll get another then, shall I?" He turned to Remus, despite his own glass still being near full. "Coming?"

When they crossed to the bar, Remus said in a tone bitter enough to surprise even himself, "Nice friends you have."

"They can be a bit full-on sometimes. You get used to it."

For once, Remus was a little hurt by Sirius. Had he not just witnessed Marlene being a total horror to him? Oblivious, Sirius ordered another drink, downing a sizeable amount of it before glancing over at the table with a slightly weary look.

"We'll leave soon," he assured Remus.

Remus was especially glad of this, and had to remind himself of it more than a couple of times once they returned to the table. Especially considering one of Marlene's first questions was, "So are you not very interested in making money then, Remus?"

"I wouldn't be a journalist if I were," he replied after a pause, forgetting that she was one.

She shrugged. "I know lots of journalists who are rich. Rita Skeeter, for one."

"And Xeno Lovegood," Caradoc added, deep and drunkenly. "He went to school with us."

"A freak," Marlene nodded, "but very wealthy now."

"Well, as far as I can tell, they only got rich from selling people out," said Remus, "and I'm not interested in doing that."

"Then you're in the wrong profession, sweetheart." Marlene's stupid lips twisted into a stupid smirk, and Caradoc joined her in her condescending laughter.

"I think it's admirable," said Sirius over the sniggers.

"You would."

"Meaning?"

"A journalist too afraid to spill secrets? Right up your street, Black."

"I'm not afraid," Remus said defensively, "I'm just not interested in fucking up people's careers." He knew he must have been getting tetchy if he'd already said "fuck" to them, but Sirius threw him a smile and, in spite of his irritation, Remus automatically smiled back.

"Admirable indeed," Marlene murmured through those perfectly painted lips. And so it went on, snide remark after snide remark, coupled with the raising of eyebrows and the pursing of thin lips, until finally, finally Marlene seemed to remember her manners. She turned to James and said, "How was America?"

Sirius took the moment of diverted attention – James couldn't resist enthusiastically launching into a full account – as his opportunity.

"Want another or shall we move on?" he said to Remus.

While Remus hadn't initially realised bar-hopping would be on the agenda, the idea of being away from Sirius's friends was very appealing. He smiled and shrugged, keen not to seem over-eager, at the same time relishing the sweet thought of freedom.

"Where you going?" James demanded when Sirius stood, shrugging his jacket on.

"Palace. Want to come?"

James screwed his face up in a disappointed sort of way. "No. Stay here. Don't go to the Palace."

"Why not?"

"It's shit."

"Too quiet in here."

"What are you, a kid? Stay, you miserable bugger," said James, but there was an edge to his voice as though he were straining to be funny.

Sirius just shook his head, hands in his pockets, and turned to leave. Remus immediately went to follow, but his heart sank when he heard, "Hang about, Black. We'll come."

The two of them exchanged a look. Marlene was already smoothing her dress down, Caradoc fixing his hair. They squeezed past a disgruntled James to join Sirius and Remus, apparently unconcerned about whether or not they were wanted.

"Oh go on, stay. You'll stay, Dearborn, won't you?" said James, clutching his pint.

"I love the Palace," came Caradoc's slurred reply, and they left, Sirius barely glancing back. Surprised as he was at them splitting, especially since Sirius had seemed so pleased to see his best friend earlier on in the evening, Remus didn't question it, although he did throw an apologetic look at James who glared back, as though it was all Remus's fault.

He didn't dwell on it. As they walked the short distance from the bar to the nightclub, Marlene and Caradoc chattering the whole way, Sirius hardly said anything, although his bare arm brushed Remus's every so often, and once or twice their hands did the same, prompting them to share the odd smile. And so it continued, this silent conversation, until they were standing outside what looked like an elaborate, Baroque-style mansion, illuminated by gaudy pink lights.

Camden Palace was unlike anything Remus had ever witnessed. Then again, that wasn't saying much. He only frequented village pubs back home, and the only clubs he'd ever been in were tacky, sticky places full of teenagers, incredibly naughty with their glasses of watered down vodka and lemonade.

The Palace was huge, an old theatre still kitted out with all its 1930's garb. Sirius said they'd played there once, back when it was a live rock music venue, but now the stage was a dance floor, and the dance floor was a dance floor, and the table tops were also, apparently, dance floors.

Strange trance music blasted from the speakers and Remus felt totally disoriented from the moment they stepped through the doors with freshly stamped hands. Foreign bodies pressed up against him, deafening beats thudded in his ears, a strange, thick, smoky smell filled the air. He forced himself not to wince, determined to appear as relaxed as Sirius and his friends. Otherwise, he soon decided, he'd just look like some kind of deranged stalker, trailing them through the crowds.

He watched as Sirius edged between two customers and leaned lazily across the bar, immediately seen to by one of several barmaids. He ordered, to Remus's dismay, four shots.

He had to carefully watch Sirius handle the shot before trying it himself, panicking a bit when Sirius poured the line of salt along his thumb, darted his tongue out to lick it quickly, bit into the lemon with ease. Remus himself managed to at least do the salt part right, but he choked on the liquid a bit, to the extent that there was no point bothering with the lemon in the end. Sirius laughed. Marlene and Caradoc raised their eyebrows.

"Do they not have tequila in the countryside, Remus?" said Marlene. "I suppose it's all cider, is it?"

Remus didn't answer, but he took some comfort in the thought of shoving her ridiculous Cyndi Lauper head into a wooden barrel of water and apples. Acidic water. And massive cooking apples. _Yeah_.

"Ignore her," said Sirius, right up close to his ear so Remus could hear him over the din. His breath was hot and ticklish, and he put an arm around Remus, warm hand on the small of his back. "Want something else? Or are you gonna dance with me?"

"Dance?" said Remus, turning to look into the other man's bright eyes. Glancing back at the packed floor, he suddenly felt slightly queasy. He watched a man in a shell suit with bleach-blond hair grab a girl from behind and snog her considerably pierced ear.

He assumed he'd have to be quite drunk before he could fully appreciate the Camden Palace experience.

"Yeah," Sirius laughed. "What else are we supposed to do?"

"I don't dance," he said firmly. Sirius replied with a pout, unwinding his arm and taking Remus's hands instead.

"Well I do," he said, starting to back away, their arms gradually stretching, "so you can either join me or join your new best pals. Your choice!"

Then he dropped Remus's hands and turned, immersing himself in the crowd. Remus stared after him, and once the head of messy black hair was definitely out of sight, he began to panic.

Oh God. What was this? Let's train Remus not to be socially inept? It was like being a kid again, chucked in at the deep end when he couldn't swim in the first place. He didn't know anyone here.

Well. Apart from _those _two.

He gave Marlene and Caradoc an awkward glance, but they were deep in conversation, holding cocktails they seemed to have conjured out of nowhere. Remus pulled at his stupidly tight top; it felt like it was constantly riding up his stomach, and he tried to remember why he'd allowed Sirius to dress him in it in the first place. What was he even doing here? He looked so stupid.

Perhaps alcohol would help.

He turned to go back to the bar, almost colliding with someone as he did. A head of dark hair right under his nose made him step back and stammer out an apology.

"Whoops! Nearly spilled that all down you," said a giddy voice, and when he glanced down he saw a young woman in front of him. She was rather short, with dark hair, a bow, and a purple-lipped smile.

"Sorry, I didn't even realise you were there," he said.

"It's fine! Most people don't see me, me being so tiny."

Remus was suddenly horribly worried he'd offended her.

"Oh, I didn't mean – I mean, you're not that small. I mean, you're thin, but you're not freakishly short or anything." Oh god, what was this? What was this? He even did hand motions to accompany "thin" and "short".

She stared up at him with a bemused smile, and after a short silence, stuck her hand out.

"I'm Alice!" she chirped.

"Remus," he replied, taking the hand.

"Remus? Cool name!" She sipped her drink and opened her mouth to speak again just as a new song started. Remus couldn't hear a word she was saying.

"What?" He hoped he'd hear her second time round, since he only ever felt one "what" was polite. She shook her head and laughed, turning and pointing to one of the many walled, velvet-lined booths.

"They're designed to block out noise," she explained when they sat down on the plush seats, speaking in a perfectly normal voice again. "Sorry, I just pulled you away then, didn't I? It's just I've been dying to speak to someone. I was on my own by the bar looking daft, and you look nice and normal which is difficult to come by in here. You weren't busy, were you?"

"No, no, it was stand around looking lost or dancing. And I can't dance."

"Oh God, me neither!" she guffawed, pushing at his arm, making Remus wonder if she was drunker than he initially realised. Still, she seemed nice. And at least now he wasn't on his own.

"I wave my arms around like a windmill!" she went on. "But all my friends are dancing, look, over there." She motioned to the dance floor, but there looked to be _hundreds _of girls dancing and Remus had to give a vague nod as though he'd seen them.

"This isn't really my scene," she said, and Remus felt himself beginning to relax. At least someone here felt as out of place as he did.

"Nor mine. I'm just here with some others. They're, um..." He glanced around out of the booth. "Somewhere."

"Don't come out very often?"

"I'm not from around here."

"Where are you from then?" She leant across the table, eyes glittering. "You sound like a Brummy. Are you a Brummy?"

He huffed out a shy laugh. "Er, I'm from Gloucester," he said.

"Gloucester! I have an auntie from Gloucester. Perhaps you know her?"

"I... don't think so."

"I haven't told you her name yet, silly! So you're just staying with friends then? What do you do?"

"I'm a journalist," he replied, confident that there was at least something he could talk about.

"Get out! So am I!" she said, as though it were the rarest thing in London to come across another journalist. Remus was beginning to think everybody here was one.

"Oh really?"

"Yes! I write for _Preacher_, what about you?"

He paused. "_Soundscape_."

_Preacher _was one of his favourite magazines. Smart, stylish, cutting-edge and wonderfully long so that his £1.50 never felt like much of a sacrifice. It was only really Alice's bubbly personality that helped him to not feel quite so intimidated by the fact he was sitting opposite someone who wrote for such an incredible publication.

"Hm." She cocked her head to the side for a moment. "Don't think I've heard of that one." At least she was _trying_to be nice about it, which was more than could be said for Marlene.

"No one has," he muttered, "so I wouldn't worry about it.

"Oh, have I upset you? I'm sorry, there's just such a lot of publications, it's difficult to keep track of them all."

"It's fine, it's fine. But _Preacher_. That's a really brilliant magazine."

"Ah, thank you, sweetheart!" She reached across and shook his forearm again as though he was praising her work specifically. Her giddiness and habit of saying everything as though it needed an exclamation mark after it reminded him a little bit of Sirius.

They chatted for a little while longer, mostly about Alice's upcoming features (she was doing a piece on a new metal band, the Dark Lords, and they were, according to her, just about the rudest band on the whole of the heavenly body), until she decided she wanted to know what sort of things Remus was working on. A bit awkward, considering how limp his portfolio was in comparison with hers.

He did his best to recall some of his recent work, trying to make it sound as though the bands he wrote about were all-really-good-honest, just way too obscure for her to have heard of them.

"When I left school I always sort of dreamed of working for _Preacher_," he admitted. "Reckoned I'd live in Soho or something."

"I can always put in a good word for you if you like," she said with a little shrug, sipping her brightly-coloured drink through the straw and looking at him with expectant brown eyes.

He stared at her. "You'd do that?"

She shrugged again. "Sure!"

"But you don't know me. What if I'm not even a real journalist?"

"Are you a real journalist?"

"Well yes, but –"

"Well then. It's no big deal, really. I do it all the time. All it means is your work _might _go to the top of the pile. We get hundreds and hundreds of packets, a lot of it a bit rubbish between you and me." She winked. "You'd have to impress them, get a good collection together. Why did you never try before?"

"I never really had anything interesting to send off," he said honestly. But he did now. He had the article, and hardly anyone got to interview Blue Stag. Surely that counted for something?

"Find something then, and we'll sort it out! Here, give me your number and I can call you once you're back at home."

Unsure of what to say he sat still, tensed, lips parted while she rooted in her bag for a pen. It seemed absurd that after five years hard graft he was getting a referral from a girl he'd just met, for a magazine he could only ever dream of working for.

Still, she _had _just said it would help him get seen to quicker, not that he would automatically be taken on as a full-time journalist with front page stories. He was grateful all the same though, and briefly wondered what the appropriate thing to do would be in the situation. Probably buy her a drink. Hers was almost finished. Yes, he'd buy her a drink.

Deciding that "can I buy you a drink?" sounded like he was flirting, he opted for Sirius's usual "want another?" instead.

She seemed pleased by the offer.

"Oh, go on then," she said, scribbling her own number down and sliding the sticky note across the table (a sign of a true journalist: carrying sticky notes around even on a night out) and then passing him the pen to return the favour.

She asked for wine, and when he left for the bar he glanced around to see if he could catch a glimpse of Sirius, suddenly terrified that he might have left. He needn't have worried though; it didn't take long to spot the dark hair and striking body. He wasn't on the dance floor, instead standing at the far end of the bar, chatting to a little group of people. There were about four of them, all incredibly glam in their get-up.

Since they weren't in a booth, they all had to lean in very close to speak to one another, and one boy in particular – skinny, a bit scrawny, and significantly shorter than Sirius – kept standing on his tip toes and pressing his mouth right up close to his ear. Remus watched in stunned silence as Sirius wrapped an arm around the boy's waist, tugging him closer, laughing at something he was saying.

But shock that Sirius was being so obviously flirtatious wasn't the only emotion swimming through Remus's mind. Ridiculously, he found himself feeling a little hurt that he'd been left out too, especially in favour of such a tacky looking group of individuals. Quickly realising the barmaid was speaking to him however, irritated by his lack of response, he snapped out of his daze, apologised and ordered.

He cast another glance in Sirius's direction before returning to the table but the bassist didn't notice, and Remus was forced to put it to the back of his mind once Alice struck up a discussion about which was better: _London Calling_ or _Give 'Em Enough Rope_.

It was about an hour before they concluded that a) The Clash was better than both, and b) Alice was about to follow her friends to Chinawhite in Soho. Remus could pick them out now, beckoning her over. They were all frightfully pretty.

"I don't suppose you'd like to come?" she asked, slinging her handbag over her shoulder.

He refused as politely as he could, and when he stood to give her an awkward farewell (etiquette wasn't a huge thing in the West Country, so he wasn't sure whether to shake her hand or give her one of those strange air kisses and it sort of ended up as a clumsy one-armed hug) she said, "I'll definitely be in touch about the magazine, okay?"

"I really appreciate it," he told her, to which she smiled, waved and left. He sat back down in the booth, alone again and unsure of what to do with himself.

Out of nowhere, Marlene swept in like a vulture.

"What were you talking to _her _about?" she hissed.

"Where did you come from?"

Ignoring him, she went on, "Right little sneak, that Alice. I bet she told you she could get you a job."

When he didn't answer, making the truth very clear, Marlene tossed her head.

"Oh, she's so _full_ of it. I'm sure the editor sends all his _Preacher _lot out to snap up anyone who might be good for a story or two. Then they throw them away like rubbish."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

She glared at him.

"I'm just saying. Don't go getting your hopes up." Ruefully, she sniffed, giving her curls another toss. "Anyway, Caradoc and I are off. Do tell Sirius we said goodbye, when you get the chance. He's a little preoccupied at the moment – might want to keep an eye on him."

She left with a sneer, and while Remus did his best to make it look as though everything she had just said had had no effect on him whatsoever, stubbornly keeping his face as expressionless as possible, he jumped up to peer out of the booth as soon as Marlene had slunk back through the crowds.

Sirius was still there, over by the bar, but three of the four hangers-on had vanished. Now it was just him and the scrawny boy, leaning with his back to the counter, Sirius's arms on either side of him. Sirius was grasping the metal pole of the bar, trapping the boy, and his face was at a slight angle as he ducked his head, as though they were about to kiss.

Remus felt a jolt in his stomach like he'd been kicked. What was he _doing_? Anyone might bloody well see them!

The mental debate Remus had with himself about whether or not it would be completely stupid and tactless to interrupt them was brief. Hastily, he slid down from the booth, making his way through the tight groups of people to get to the two new friends.

"Sirius."

Sirius turned abruptly, a slight look of panic in his eyes, making it very obvious that he did know he wasn't supposed to be pressing up against younger boys in trendy night clubs. Realising it was only Remus however, he smiled brightly.

"Bloody hell, I was wondering where you were! Thought you'd abandoned me," he said, speech so slurred Remus momentarily forgot what he was going to say.

"How _drunk _are you?" he said.

Ignoring him, Sirius reached back to wind an arm around the boy and push him forward a little.

"Have you met Jason?"

"Jake," the boy corrected in what sounded like some kind of American accent.

"Jake. Have you met Jake? Cute, isn't he?"

Up close, Remus could take in more details of the boy's face. He supposed he was _okay _looking, but the neon lights of the club showed up what looked like acne scars, and his eyes were just a little too close together. He couldn't have been more than eighteen either, and it was that fact alone that made Remus shake his head.

He tore his eyes away from the boy, back to Sirius.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Having a good time! Aren't you? You're supposed to have a good time in clubs. This is fun, isn't it?"

Fun? Was watching Sirius Black shamelessly grind against some acne-scarred teenage Yank in a busy club, in full view of everyone, Remus Lupin's idea of fun? Well. He'd had better nights out.

"I think I'm going to go back," he said finally.

"What? Why? Aren't you having a good time?"

"I don't feel great," he said truthfully.

Sirius unwound his arm from a disappointed Jake and stepped closer to Remus. He placed his hands on his shoulders, the one still clutching his drink shaking precariously, and looked at Remus with concerned, if slightly unfocused, eyes.

"You don't feel great?" he echoed. "Maybe you should let George take a look at you. George knows everything." Suddenly he did a double take. "But you can't go. You don't know the way back!"

"Well..." Remus saw his opportunity. "Maybe you should come with me."

"What, now? We've only been here ten minutes!"

One eyebrow raised, Remus looked first at Jake, skinny and irritating in those tiny clothes, then back at Sirius. He inhaled deeply. Suddenly Sirius's aftershave didn't smell very good at all, especially not when mixed with the stale smoke of the club and the alcohol on his breath, and he started to feel a bit sick as his senses became overwhelmed with the nauseating mixture.

"I really think you should come with me," he said firmly.

"Why?" Sirius wanted to know. Then he grinned. "Are you worried about me? You always worry, Remus." He pinched Remus's cheek a little too hard, before turning back to Jake. "He worries a lot."

"Maybe we could all go back," Jake suggested slyly.

"Full of bright ideas, this one," Sirius chirped back, but his expression quickly changed. "Go on, stay. I'll buy you another drink."

"I really don't want anything," said Remus. He couldn't exactly back out now, and it was obvious that he was interrupting, but he tried all the same. "Are you sure you won't come?"

But it was a stupid thing to say because Sirius Black was famously stubborn, and clearly not interested in relinquishing that title he opted to stay with a smug Jason/Jake. Remus was still worried, but maybe this was something Sirius did a lot, stupid as it was. Besides, he was also more than a little hurt at being so obviously rejected, a feeling which in turn gave way to a bit of anger.

_Let him shag American boys_, he thought irritably,_ he can get found out if he wants. It'll be his band who cares, not me. _When these thoughts didn't diminish his worry very effectively, he also added, _Jake's eyes are too close together anyway. And I didn't want to come out in the first place._

Somewhat comforted, he turned and stepped rather bravely into the crowd. He didn't turn back as he fought towards the door, but he was certain Sirius wasn't following him. Once outside, the surprisingly warm evening air was a welcomed relief but, not ten seconds after the metal doors swung shut behind him, he heard them burst open again. Turning, he saw with an automatic smile of triumph Sirius stumbling out behind him, and his heart suddenly lurched with a surge of affection and relief.

_He chose me! He'd rather come back with me than shag gap year students!_

But then, with suddenly confused eyes, he noticed that Sirius didn't show any signs that he intended to start walking. Instead he dug a clumsy hand into his pocket, produced a wallet, and pressed several pound notes into Remus's palm.

"Get a cab," he said. Then he recited the address, nudged Remus's arm affectionately, and went back inside.

The heavy closing of the metal doors left, in spite of the bustle of the street around him, a strange silence in its wake. Perhaps because the act seemed so heavy with symbolism; after all, Sirius had just made it perfectly clear he didn't care about Remus leaving. He stared at the closed doors, unsure of what to think. Was that nice? Was what Sirius had just done nice? He couldn't decide, but he was leaning more towards Not Nice.

Still, the taxi was probably for the best. He knew he would never have found his way back on his own, and he returned to the Georgian townhouse in a matter of minutes, ignoring the cab driver's limp attempts at conversation the whole way. The black Firebird parked outside and the obese cat in the lounge window made it instantly recognisable, and when he knocked on the front door, a pyjama-clad George let him in without a word, eyes full of understanding.

He climbed the stairs, Achilles quick at his heels, pawing at him and demanding to be let into his bedroom and meowing indignantly when the door was promptly shut in his face. Finally alone, Remus peeled off the stupidly tight clothes and screwed them up into a ball, lobbing them into a corner. Then, scrubbing his palms over his eyes, he fell into bed with a sigh.

His mind was swimming; strange, oddly painful images of Sirius and Jake together refusing to leave his head, becoming increasingly nauseating and explicit no matter how hard he shook himself to get rid of them. For the next hour he pleaded with his stubborn head, willing himself to fall asleep quickly, deeply, to not wake until morning. After all, he wasn't sure he'd be able to endure a night of the inevitable creak of bedsprings in the next room.

* * *

><p>It was birdsong, traffic and bright, bright sunshine which pulled Remus from sleep. Light streamed in through the sash windows, heating his sticky, tangled body and waging war on his sensitive eyes.<p>

For a moment he was incredibly disoriented. He lay flat on his back in the foreign bed, gazing up at the ceiling medallion. Then he registered the bare white walls, the slim fireplace, the flowery smell of washing detergent, and remembered.

He had no idea what time it was, but he guessed around ten based on nothing but instinct and the sounds of someone moving about in the kitchen downstairs. He thought for a moment that it might be Sirius. Then he remembered with a grimace the American boy and wondered if he had indeed been invited home. If he had, whatever the two of them had done together last night hadn't woken Remus up, a fact for which he was truly grateful.

Peeling the sheets from his body and hauling himself up out of the big, uncomfortable bed, he slouched over to the window where his own clothes lay. Outside, big red buses trundled past the Georgian houses and the people who were milling about, enjoying the rare sunshine. He blinked and rubbed at his sore eyes, pulling on jeans and an ordinary t-shirt and pointedly ignoring the clothes from last night in the corner.

Out in the hallway, Sirius's door was closed. There was no noise coming from his room, but Remus didn't expect there to be any, and with a little sigh he began to descend the stairs. It turned out to be George the housekeeper making the noise in the kitchen. Remus peeked his head around the doorway, wondering if it would be alright for him to go in or if George was in Cleaning Mode or something, but the man merely had his nose buried in The Telegraph. He looked up before Remus could back out.

"Morning!" he said brightly.

"Hi," Remus returned in an awful croak of a voice, and then, unsure what else to do, he padded into the kitchen and joined him at the breakfast bar.

George placed his newspaper aside and offered him a sympathetic smile, already getting down from his stool. "How's the head? And what can I get you?"

"Oh it's fine, you don't have to get me anything. I can –"

"Nonsense, it's what I'm paid for. I'd love it if you asked me for a huge breakfast actually. It's not like Sirius leaves me with much to do around here." He indicated the spotless kitchen with a good-natured smile. "Coffee?"

"I'll have tea, if it's alright."

He gazed around the large kitchen while the housekeeper set to work. It was that fashionable mix of old and new he'd seen in his mother's catalogues, with its wooden units and frosted glass and limestone floor, and he was rather embarrassed to realise it was larger than his living room and kitchen put together.

"Would you like anything to eat?" asked George, placing a steaming mug in front of him.

"Thank you. And I'm not really very hungry actually," Remus said truthfully, reaching for the sugar bowl.

"There's only Paracetamol, I'm afraid. Or co-codamol, but it's very strong."

He wasn't hungover but the Paracetamol was brought to him anyway, and Remus offered him a small smile and an apology. "I know it's not your job to wait on me."

"Actually, it is. And I really can make you breakfast, Remus, you don't have to be polite."

"Thanks, but I'm honestly not hungry. I couldn't stomach anything."

"Sirius eats like a starved dog after a night out," George said fondly.

Remus smiled, cradling his cup, already starting to feel a little better. The sunlight through the French doors warmed his skin pleasantly, and the birdsong seeping in through the open windows was much less annoying in here than in the bedroom.

"Have you worked for him long?" he asked, unsure what else he and George had in common besides Sirius.

"He moved in a year ago and I've been here six months. I cook, clean, sort the post... but really I think he just likes to have someone to chat to." George sipped his tea thoughtfully. "He's social like that, is Sirius."

They chatted for a little while longer, the housekeeper an easy companion to get along with. It was obvious as to why Sirius had hired him. But then, as expected if Remus was being honest with himself, the skinny boy from last night emerged from Sirius's room, padding into the kitchen in rumpled clothes, wearing a shy, sleepy smile. It put something of a dampener on the mood, shutting Remus up mid-sentence.

George raised his eyebrows. "Good morning..?"

"Jake," the boy supplied.

"Jake. Would you like some tea, Jake? The kettle's just boiled."

"That would be great." He avoided Remus's gaze as he looked around the large kitchen, giving a low whistle. "Look at this place," he breathed in that whiny, Californian twang. "What's a guy gotta do to get a place like this?"

So he didn't know who Sirius was then. Well, that was something.

Neither Remus nor George answered, but when the tea was ready Remus was surprised to see Jake take the seat directly opposite him, giving him a smile. Perhaps he wanted to be friends. Remus didn't want to be friends. He began to look around for Achilles. Jake could be friends with the cat instead.

"Remus, right?" he said, interrupting Remus's hunt. His name sounded weird on the American tongue.

Remus tried to remember whether or not Sirius had said his name in Jake's presence last night, wondering why Jake knew it now, worried that Sirius had been complaining about him behind his back.

"Right."

"Man, you guys have weird names in England," Jake laughed, but when Remus failed to mirror the smile he stopped. Remus didn't really know why he was being so short with him. Jake was a lot more vulnerable-looking in the bright morning light – plus the acne scars weren't really _that _awful – and Remus found himself actually feeling a bit bad for him. How was he to know that Sirius was a sex-deprived rock star with no interest in steady relationships?

Still, pity didn't mean Remus wanted to talk to him, and Jake seemed to realise this as he finished his tea in silence, giving a stiff nod when George offered to ring a taxi for him. After ten more minutes of awkward silence and a much too hopeful "I wonder if he's going to be getting up any time soon?" from Jake, the boy left Sirius's home rather reluctantly.

George didn't say a word as he continued to clean, as though the kitchen wasn't already sparkling, but Remus sort of wished he would. He wanted someone to acknowledge that it was wrong for Sirius to bring the boy back.

When George did finally speak it was only to say, "Sirius tells me you work in Gloucestershire?" and while it wasn't exactly what Remus had been hoping for, it at least helped push Jake to the back of his mind.

"Yes, that's right," he nodded.

"I'm from Somerset myself," said George, but any West Country accent he may have had was masked with Received Pronunciation now. Traitor. "And do you like working there?"

"It's alright," said Remus, "although I suppose when I imagined becoming a journalist I thought I'd end up somewhere like... well, here."

"I suppose things don't always take their intended path. I thought I'd be a musician. Instead I'm taking care of one." George chuckled to himself. "Still, if you're serious about your work you're in the right place. Perhaps Sirius could take you to some of the big publishers. The Fly are based right here in Camden."

"Maybe. It would be nice." Remus gave a slight shrug, pushing sugar granules into little patterns on the countertop. He wasn't sure he could explain to George that when it came to big names he couldn't just go in and insist they give him the time of day, although he remembered Alice from the night before and immediately felt a little better.

It was then that Sirius picked his moment to slouch down the stairs and pad sleepily into the kitchen, clad in nothing but grey sweat pants and those dog tags from last night. It was with a small, well-disguised shudder that Remus noticed the ugly purpling hickeys painting his neck as Sirius yawned and pressed a palm to his forehead with a groan.

"So thirsty," he mumbled, moving to the far counter to make his own coffee.

"You're up early," said George.

"Yeah, well. Got guests, haven't I?" Kettle brewing, Sirius turned and rested his elbows against the countertop, offering Remus a sleepy smile. "Is your head as fucked as mine?"

Remus didn't answer, watching quietly as Sirius rifled in the drawer beside him and grabbed the packet of co-codamol, downing three with handfuls of tap water. George tutted.

"You'll be high as a kite."

Sirius shrugged again, not turning round, and the housekeeper stood, conjuring a limp excuse to leave the two of them alone: "I'll go and see to your room, shall I?"

With George gone, Sirius picked a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches out from the fruit bowl and lit up. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking, his expression blank and unreadable. Achilles wandered in and Sirius bent to scoop him up, fag and coffee cup in the other hand, like a parent with a baby and a bottle.

"Hello, Gorgeous," he murmured, pressing a kiss into the soft head of orange fur. He stood, flushed and messy-haired, looking for all the world as if he wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. For a few moments he was still, head pressed against the cat's, eyes closed, breathing deeply, and Remus waited patiently. Stupidly, he found himself expecting some kind of apology, but Sirius didn't even speak until he finally opened his eyes and meandered over to the French doors.

"Forgot you were allergic," he said, putting Achilles out and shutting the doors on the bewildered animal. "Don't want our Remus sneezing."

"It's alright, you don't have to," said Remus. "It's only if they get too close or if they've been on the furniture or something..."

But Sirius was barely listening, and when he flopped down into the chair opposite him Remus pointed out, "You've something blue on your face."

Sirius inspected his appearance in a spoon, then held up the back of his hand in reply. The stamp from the Palace had imprinted itself on Sirius's face as he slept, and now he scrubbed half-heartedly at it, not removing it at all.

"He's gone then?" he mumbled, bleary-eyed as he sucked on the last of his cigarette.

Remus nodded quietly.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said suddenly, not meeting Remus's eye, "about last night."

Remus shrugged. "You've nothing to apologise to me for," he said, although somehow he didn't feel that was strictly true.

"He didn't know who I was," said Sirius, as though that made it alright. "He was a gap year student. He listens to Starship, for fuck's sake. Besides, it's just a tacky dance club, it's not like I ever get recognised."

Remus wondered which of them he was trying to convince.

"So that's why you go in there, is it? Is that why you don't have any pictures or anything up in your house, too? So your shags don't figure out who you are?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Sirius, and it was the closest to a snap he'd ever come with Remus. Still, he wasn't really denying it.

"There was a journalist in there last night," Remus said quietly, "from _Preacher_. I was talking to her. What if she'd recognised you?"

"Well she didn't, did she?" Sirius replied moodily. "I hardly ever do it."

"That's not the point though, is it? It only takes one time, Sirius."

"Alright, I get it. It was a stupid thing to do." Annoyed, Sirius stubbed out his cigarette on the countertop, using his free hands to tangle in his hair, elbows on the table as he grumbled: "God, you sound just like Moody."

Bloody hell, did he? What a horrible thought.

"I was only trying to apologise for not coming back with you," Sirius went on sulkily. "I didn't realise I'd get this great lecture."

"I'm not trying to lecture you," said Remus. "It's just your band obviously goes to a lot of lengths to..." He chose his words carefully, not wanting to piss Sirius off even more; "...protect your secret, and it seems unfair to mess with that."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but perhaps noticing the defensive look with which Remus was eyeing him, he paused instead. Looking off to the side, nibbling on his lower lip, he ran an absent-minded hand over the love bites decorating his neck, and when he spoke it was in a soft, world-weary sort of way.

"Okay." And then, in an obvious attempt at putting the event behind them, he looked at Remus and forced a smile. "What do you want to do today?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Warnings:** None

* * *

><p>After bathing and dressing, working themselves up to feel somewhat normal again, Remus and Sirius stepped out into the warm weather and walked the short distance towards Camden market.<p>

All along the sun-dappled streets were the kind of people Remus had idolized as a kid, the kind of people his parents had dreaded him turning into: tall, brooding creatures dressed in black, with fantastic makeup and impossible shoes. To someone who wasn't really into the 'scene' as it were, they would probably have thought the young men and women who lined the streets of Camden to be yobs or young deliquents or something equally as threatening.

Remus knew that wasn't true. He could tell they were friendly by the easy way they smiled and chatted and the way the shopkeepers sat outside their little establishments, blasting sultry Led Zeppelin and zingy Pink Floyd, smoking and giving friendly nods to people as they went by. Then again, it was often the case with the outcasts of society; they were often the nicest of the lot.

"I bloody love this place," said Sirius, gazing all around him behind his Ray-Bans as though he hadn't seen it all a thousand times before.

Remus felt the same. He'd often come down to Camden with his friends as a teenager, the lot of them using up all of their money on petrol and spending the day window shopping, crowding on to the barges and sniffing out as many free gigs as possible. He'd thought back then that he would someday purchase one of the unbelievably overpriced, deliberately scruffy Camden homes and live out the rest of his life there in indie paradise.

Suffice to say it didn't happen, but it was nice seeing the town again for nostalgia's sake.

As they went by Sirius pointed out places as they went by like an enthusiastic, if somewhat less informative, tour guide: where he'd got his first tattoo, played his first gig, spots where he used to busk. Then they were in the heart of Camden Lock Market itself, drinking in all that was on offer, surrounded by hundreds of tiny stalls selling weird, wonderful objects.

"I remember when this place opened in the '70s. My brother and I always used to come on a Saturday afternoon, pretending we were going to play cricket in Regent's Park," Sirius smiled. He'd cheered up a lot since breakfast.

It was nice, weaving through the markets with Sirius, first Camden Lock and then the Stables, enjoying the sunshine and not having to worry about looking cool in front of his band and famous friends. He found any hard feelings he may have had towards Sirius quickly evaporating.

And Sirius himself seemed at his most relaxed since they'd got to London more so than he had been on the tour too without the watchful gaze of James. Now he cheerfully recalled anecdotes and chatted with some of the owners who were clearly old friends, introducing Remus with an arm around his shoulder as his "good mate" rather than just a journalist.

Once or twice nervous teenagers crept up to them, clutching backpacks and marker pens and asking if he was "honestly actually Sirius Black". It was inevitable that there would be fans in a place like this but Sirius signed bags and t-shirts and one girl's forehead, which she vowed to never wash again, without complaint. He chatted with them easily, asked them what they were up to, if they were from around there, to which they gave jittery, breathless answers.

"Do you like it?" Remus asked once they were alone, leaning against the railings at the back of the market where the best of the sunshine was and clutching bottles of iced tea.

"What's that?"

"People, fans, coming up to you and that."

"Yeah, course," Sirius grinned. "Who wouldn't love that? Having strangers tell me how bloody fantastic I am?"

When Remus quirked an eyebrow, not playing along, Sirius tried again.

"I suppose it depends where you are," he said. "Sometimes on tour it can be a bit of a ball-ache. A lot of the people who hang around at gigs and hotels... they don't really give a fuck about your music, they just want to add to their lists of people they've met, people they've slept with."

He glanced around, indicating the crowds and stalls.

"Here it's different. God knows where I'd be if it weren't for this place. I grew up in Highgate in the most rigid household, Remus, with these officious parents. I'd come here and... I'd find people like me. On the off chance you saw some musician you cared about, it was a big deal, you know? I remember meeting this guy, this bassist I loved, though I doubt anyone would give a toss about him now. Right over there, he was."

He pointed to a stall several yards away, stocked with surreal artwork and painted wooden blocks.

"It meant the world to me that he gave me the time of day. The absolute world. Stuff like that matters when you're a kid. I don't have the right to snub anyone here, I'd be nothing without them."

Remus looked down at his bottle, touched. "So... you'll always stay here?"

"Never leave." Sirius finished by downing a hearty mouthful of his drink, as though the little speech had left him flustered, and changed the subject. "So what about you anyway? I don't think I ever asked. You've always lived in the West Country, right? I mean your accent's so strong."

"God, is it?" said Remus, oddly pleased that the other man made such observations about him, even if they were mildly embarrassing. "I grew up where I live now. Not in that house, obviously, but a few streets back where my mum still lives. Never left. Probably never will."

"If you want to you will."

"I do. It's so boring, nothing ever happens. I mean, Gloucester's idea of a good time is cheese rolling." When Sirius laughed, Remus did too, shaking his head. "But I don't know if I could handle living somewhere else, if I could adjust to it, having to start all over again after twenty-odd years."

"You didn't strike me as someone who had difficulty adjusting to change," said Sirius softly. "I mean you agreed to come and stay with me. You didn't just write your article and bugger off."

"Well. I suppose it's because I like you."

Sirius didn't seem to mind. He grinned back. "Well then. Find somewhere you like and you'll have no problem adjusting to it."

And it was the same as when Sirius said a lot of things; he had a way of making it seem like the simplest thing in the world, and for the rest of the afternoon Remus entertained the idea. He imagined what it would be like to live here, befriending vagabonds and buskers, reviewing bands in The Underground and The Devonshire Arms and frequenting bohemian cafés with Sirius, writing articles on a barge on Regent's canal. He gazed at the colourful terraced houses and found himself imagining what it would be like to own one, to wake up in big white Georgian rooms every day.

By mid-afternoon they were both hungry, and it was over their late lunch in an upstairs junk shop café where everything was for sale, even the table and chairs, that Sirius brought up the previous evening with lowered eyes.

"I didn't know James was coming round, else I would have told you. Just I hadn't seen him in a long time."

"I know, Sirius."

"We can do something tonight, though. Just you and me. Didn't I say we'd go see a band or something?"

Remus, touched that he'd remembered, gave a little shrug.

"I won't pretend like I have some surprise gig planned for us," Sirius admitted, "but I can get us into anywhere you like. We could find out who's playing tonight."

Truthfully, Remus didn't really fancy spending another evening out. He would rather have spent it back at the house, just the two of them, swapping stories and listening to music. He would rather have had Sirius play for him.

In a moment of uncharacteristic assertiveness – probably a result of the lovely weather, or the fact that he'd managed not to make a fool out of himself for the whole day so far – he said, "Actually Sirius, I'd sort of like to see you play."

Sirius looked at him, a bit of cucumber held between his thumb and forefinger.

"But we're not playing..." A look of realisation dawned on his face. "Oh right! Got it. But... won't that be a little boring?"

Remus's face fell. "You're right, it's a stupid suggestion."

"No no no, it's alright, we'll stay in. It'll be fun. We'll order in. Watch a film or something. I just got Blade Runner, have you seen it?"

But Remus still felt like he'd somehow disappointed Sirius with his lack of enthusiasm for London night life, and throughout the whole of their stroll through Regent's Park it lurked in the back of his mind. He wondered if Sirius was regretting having him to stay. After all, Remus must have been the only person in their twenties in London who opted to spend Saturday night in like some tragic middle-aged man.

If Sirius minded he was doing a fantastic job of hiding it, cheerfully ambling through the park and leading them along the lake, trying to get close enough to pet the herons and failing miserably when they snapped at his fingers.

They played hide and seek amidst the topiary animals, and at one point Sirius even took them down a winding back lane, a cyclist track really, and grabbed Remus's hand to haul him up on to some overgrown hedging against the wall which, to Remus's astonishment, overlooked the tiger enclosure of London Zoo. They stayed there for a while like naughty school children, Sirius pretending to coax the tigers and Remus terrified that he might actually catch their attention, Sirius's mischievous grin the only thing giving him confidence that they were going to get mauled to death after all.

On their way home that evening, the sky a startlingly beautiful pale pink, the hazy kind that seemed only ever to be found in cities like London, Sirius nudged Remus gently with his shoulder.

"Today was nice."

Remus smiled back. "It was good."

"And it's a good idea to stay in," Sirius went on. "I shouldn't have said it would be boring. Hanging out with you is never boring."

* * *

><p>So they stayed in, no teenage boys or tacky clubs or hateful friends to ruin things. They sprawled out on the rug in front of the television in the lounge, Achilles purring nearby, close enough for Sirius to reach out and scratch him behind the ears but not enough to do Remus's sinuses any serious damage. They watched this weird film E.T. instead of Blade Runner, but Sirius lost interest halfway through and began teasing the cat instead. When it was over, they retired to the loft with a couple of bottles of expensive-looking red wine.<p>

The large circular window let in the last of the day's red-orange sunlight as the early evening melted into night, and it was so hot up there that Sirius opened the window as far as it would go and tugged off his t-shirt and lay spread-eagled on the floor, showing off all manner of tattoos and bruises. Remus sat beside him, unable to keep from staring at every inked word and symbol, completely unable to fathom what a majority of them meant.

When it grew dark neither of them moved to switch the lights on. They could still see each other's faces from the hall-light at the bottom of the staircase. They listened to Led Zeppelin on low, and Sirius smoked roll-ups, and they managed to get themselves fairly drunk on the wine.

Remus was aware that it was possibly the coolest situation he had ever been in. If his old schoolmates could see him now...

"Why don't you smoke?" Sirius asked out of the blue, tapping out the beat to 'Heartbreaker'.

"Too scared," Remus admitted, barely pausing to think about it.

Sirius's cigarette was dangling dangerously close to his bare skin as he contemplated Remus in silence. A bit of ash dropped on to the large star tattoo and he flicked it away distractedly. In the middle, the two tiny holes where the studs in his hips usually glinted stood out like snake bites. Remus cocked his head to one side.

"Did that hurt?" he asked, genuinely curious. Piercings, tattoos – he'd always had some kind of grim fascination with them. He thought of all the scars he'd accumulated over the years as a result of clumsy feet and eager bullies and stupid accidents, and wondered why anyone would intentionally mar their body.

"The star did because it's on the bone," said Sirius, tracing the thick black line with his finger. "The piercing, not so much."

Remus curled his fingers into fists. Sirius smirked.

"It pushed itself out the first time like a splinter so I had to get it done again. Had one on the other side too but it got ripped out at a gig."

He began to turn to show him, but Remus pointedly looked away and babbled something along the lines of "shutupshutupshutup". Sirius laughed.

"You asked. Don't tell me you don't have any piercings, Remus?"

Remus shook his head.

"What, not even one? What about a tattoo?"

This time it was Remus who gave the unimpressed look, though it was obvious by Sirius's grin that he already knew the answer.

"Do I look like the kind of person to have a tattoo?" Remus asked him, glancing down at his ordinary polo shirt and scuffed jeans.

"I don't know. You might have a secret one like me," said Sirius. He leant closer, and Remus's eyes must have widened a little because Sirius laughed again and tugged lightly at the waistband of his jeans. The tiny strip of words flashed momentarily. "I meant the stupid lyric."

"It's not stupid," said Remus, hoping to divert the subject away from his wandering mind. Honestly, he wouldn't have put some lewd form of body modification past Sirius Black.

"Really? Is that what you're going to get then, some gushy song lyric?"

"What _I'm_ going to get?"

"We have to get you one now, Remus!"

Sirius had barely even finished speaking before he was rolling himself over in one swift movement, right on top of Remus, straddling him and clamping hands on his shoulders. Grey eyes glinted impishly, cigarette burning away beside Remus's ear, tickling him and making him squirm as he tried in vain to ignore the pleasant, rare feeling of having someone's warm body on top of him.

"What would you like, hm? Wings?" Sirius's long, warm fingers trailed over Remus's shoulders, around on to his blades, travelling the path down his skinny arms and picking up his hands instead, turning them over. "'Love and Hate?' No, I know!" He batted at Remus's bicep, "'Mum' in a heart, right?" He threw his head back and laughed again.

"It's probably difficult for you to believe," Remus said slowly, "but not everybody wants to vandalise their bodies."

"_Vandalism_?" Sirius spluttered, feigning outrage. He sat back on his haunches, arse moving dangerously close to Remus's crotch, and held his arms out, cigarette in hand. "Mate, I'm a work of art!"

"Did you design them yourself?"

"Of course! They all symbolise something important, so I'm not going to have something _common_, am I?"

"God forbid," said Remus, swallowing thickly as Sirius splayed a hand across his chest, inching back just that bit further. "'Symbolise something important', so he gets a sodding great star on his hip."

"Well believe it or not, I do make up rather an important part of myself, Remus."

They snickered like kids, even though it wasn't really funny. Then Sirius looked down at him with that same thoughtful expression and, thankfully - for his arse had definitely been bordering on dangerous territory - he moved back up Remus's body to stick the joint out towards his lips.

"Try it," he said.

"No, thank you."

"It'll help you relax. You need to relax, Remus. You're always so jittery." Suddenly he drummed his fingers against Remus's chest, making him jump. "It's not a journalist thing. You're the first nervous journalist I've ever met, and I've met a lot. They're always hanging around and they're not nervous, not one of them."

Remus said nothing as Sirius's fingers continued to dance lightly across his torso.

"So maybe it's a West Country thing," he went on, "or maybe it's that boss of yours. He made _me _nervous, for fuck's sake."

"He's alright," Remus managed, unable to keep a sigh of relief from huffing out of his lips when Sirius abruptly rolled off him and on to the floor again. Odd really, considering Sirius probably weighed less than Achilles and smelled rather good.

"What are you even doing there?" he was asking now. "I mean really, how do you expect to get anywhere living in a village? Why aren't you here in London?"

For a moment Remus was slightly hurt – a sort of 'I-can-say-bad-things-about-my-home-but-you-can't' type thing – but he knew, really, that Sirius had a point.

"I was talking to this girl last night," he said, "a journalist. Said she'd put in a good word for me."

"Who does she write for?"

"Preacher."

"You're great with words. I'm sure you could do it."

"You haven't read any of my stuff."

Sirius shrugged. "You always won at Hangman on tour." He nudged Remus in the side with one sharp elbow. "Hey, if you got a job there, imagine, you could come and live with me!"

For one crazy moment, Remus actually thought he was being serious. It wasn't a moment long enough for him to think about what living with Sirius might actually be like as he scoffed and pushed him back.

"You? What makes you think I'd want to live with you?"

Sirius pouted, before holding up his glass. "I have good wine?"

"That you do," Remus concurred, leaning to clink the two glasses together and taking a sip. "It's giving me a headache actually."

"You just have to get used to it. Now, if you lived in _London _–"

"Oh, don't pretend you're some hardened street boy with your drinking skills," Remus snorted. "Where was it you went again? Eton?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Have you seen their uniform? Like I could wear such a thing."

At his words, Remus conjured up a mental image of Sirius in the Eton top hat and tails. If he was stripped of his messy hair and tattoos it would probably suit him – especially with that haughty swagger of his. Remus laughed at the thought, the wine and Sirius's indignant expression making him laugh more, and it took a moment before he could speak again.

"Sorry, sorry. Harrow then."

"Straw hat and cane?" said Sirius, stubbing out his cigarette on a wooden floorboard and taking out another. "Even better."

"Well. Where did you go?"

Sirius looked up from the hands cupped around his second cigarette as he lit it. He licked his lips before answering.

"I went to a perfectly ordinary school, thank you very much."

"Boarding?"

When Sirius didn't answer, Remus laughed and leaned in closer. "See. You're just a toff at heart, aren't you?" He prodded his bare chest gently. "I can hear that RP accent just fine."

Now it was Sirius who leaned in, giving an impish grin in return. "Better than yours, country boy," he breathed, prodding him back.

Remus's smile froze. Sirius's grey eyes were so near he could see the flecks of white bursting out from the pupils like stars. His lips were lightly stained from the wine, his breathing heavy. In a move that made Remus's eyes widen, Sirius reached up and gently grazed his cheek with calloused fingertips.

Suddenly a flash of lunging orange made Remus whirl round, almost tipping the remaining contents of his glass everywhere. But it was just the cat, Achilles, making for them with hungry meows.

"God, scared me..." Remus started with a shaky laugh, but Sirius cut him off when he caught hold of his chin and pressed their lips together.

Stunned, Remus only just managed to register the feel of Sirius's soft lips on his, wet with wine, clumsy and warm. He felt one of Sirius's hands on his waist as their lips slid together slowly, but just as Remus's eyes began to close, the warm wetness of a tongue running along his lower lip startled a gasp from his throat, and he suddenly pushed Sirius away. Well, tried to push him away and ended up with his hands on Sirius's chest, not budging him at all but driving himself on to his back.

"What are you doing?" he spluttered, scrambling to sit up again.

Sirius cocked his head to one side, apparently unperturbed.

"Kissing you, what else?"

"Well yes, I realised that, I'm just... _surprised_."

Sirius looked at him for a moment, taking a long, steady drag on his new cigarette.

"I thought you liked me," he said, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth.

"I _do_, but –"

"Well then."

And as if it was as simple as that, Sirius moved to kiss him again. Remus almost choked on the new cloud of smoke Sirius brought with him, but still managed to actually push him away this time without sending himself flat on his arse again.

"Remus!"

"I'm not queer, Sirius," Remus said, trying to keep his gaze steady even though he could feel himself starting to blush horribly.

"Oh." Sirius looked off to the side for a moment, then back at Remus, an eyebrow quirked. "Really?"

"Yes!" And now the blush was in full force, and he had to finally look away.

There was a long, dreadful silence.

"You said you were okay with it," Sirius said eventually. He kept an eye on Remus as he reached for the ash tray and crushed the last of his cigarette into it with perhaps a little more force than usual.

"Yeah, okay with it, not... _it_."

Sirius gave him a sharp look at that. He shoved the ashtray aside so that it toppled over and hauled himself up on to his feet rather unsteadily. The cat, still pawing around for food, gazed up at him with a wary expression and took a few careful steps back.

"Sirius, watch the cat..."

"I'm not going to stand on my own _cat_," he snapped, narrowly missing the orange tail with his foot and causing the animal to bolt.

So he was mad then. But he was also drunker than Remus had realised, maybe because he himself had quickly sobered up in the last couple of minutes. Now Sirius swayed a bit, not looking at Remus as he snatched his shirt up and tugged it on, head down, almost like he was embarrassed. But then, bloody hell, he _was _Sirius Black. He probably wasn't used to being rejected.

Was that even the right term? Rejected? Was he, Remus Lupin, even capable of rejecting anyone? Even if he did physically reject someone, as he had just done now, was it even still called a "rejection" in his case?

Whatever the answer, Sirius didn't look pleased.

"I'm going to bed," he announced. It wasn't very late but Remus didn't stop him.

Alone, he dragged his knees up to his chest, wondering what on earth he was going to do. _How is it_, he thought wretchedly, _everything always seems to go from great to so horribly wrong in a matter of seconds? Is my life destined to always be rife with such cruel inconsistency?_ They'd only been having a laugh. Why did Sirius have to go and get so close?

He turned when he felt something brush against him, interrupting his thought. The cat meowed up at him woefully.

"I can't feed you," he replied thickly, before turning away and beginning to sneeze repeatedly.

* * *

><p>Needless to say, he barely slept once he went to bed. It wasn't just that he was replaying the earlier events of the evening in his mind, but the noise of the traffic outside, the loud tick of the hallway clock, the occasional scratching of the cat at the door all combined to form a dreadful, monotonous din.<p>

Sirius's door stayed firmly shut for a while, but about an hour after Remus slipped under the icy sheets of the guest room, he heard it open, heard the pad of footsteps on the stairs and the snap of what he thought was the kitchen light. He hadn't come back up since.

It had to be nearing midnight now, Remus thought. Sighing, he turned over in bed to stare up at the starry London sky through the window. He couldn't believe he was in bed already, that he'd ruined the whole night. Sirius hadn't invited him to London to sleep. He'd invited him to...

To what? To hang out? To kiss? To – Remus was almost embarrassed thinking about it – do _more_? Or was he just being plain arrogant now? After all, why would Sirius Black make special arrangements just to spend time with him when he could have had anyone in the world?

Besides, Sirius had been drinking and Remus was beginning to see a pattern there - wasted in the hotel with Leo, smashed in the club with Jake, and now suitably drunk in the loft with him. It seemed pretty clear: when Sirius had been drinking he'd go for anyone.

Remus was sort of hurt that the only time someone like Sirius could show an interest in him was when that someone was under the influence of alcohol.

Because bugger. Remus _did_ fancy him a bit. Of course he did; Sirius was cocky and sure of himself, funny and spontaneous and talented, and he was so _stupidly_ good looking, a bit like Jim Morrison only smilier and with tamer hair. And Remus liked The Doors a _lot_, so the whole thing, he decided, had really been inevitable.

And it wasn't even about whether or not one preferred the company of blokes over girls. With Sirius it didn't really seem to matter. He wasn't like ordinary men, and yet he wasn't a bit girly either. He was just Sirius. And Remus liked Sirius. And if he was being honest with himself, the kiss had actually been quite nice, wetness and clumsiness and tobaccoey taste and all. Despite its brevity, he'd still registered the warmth, the pleasant combination of soft lips and rough stubble, heavy hands on his waist.

But he'd cocked it up. Scared. Not used to being advanced on by someone else. He'd never been very good at just taking things as they came.

Downstairs, he heard the lights snap off. Then quiet, ascending footsteps. Achilles scratched at the door again (why was the bloody thing scratching at _his_ door? Why did it keep following _him_ around?) and, tensed, Remus heard Sirius's voice on the landing, soft and low: "Go on. Get out of it."

Then a pause. Remus strained to listen, unsure if he'd just missed the sound of Sirius going back into his own room. But then there came a gentle tap, so gentle it was probably done with fingertips, and the door slowly opened before Remus had even decided whether or not to reply.

"Remus? You awake?"

Sirius didn't wait for an answer. He slid the door shut behind him and strode over to the bed.

"I know you are," he said in a slightly louder voice, but Remus, even with his eyes shut, could hear him wavering from the way the floorboards creaked as he debated between going and staying.

Eventually, Remus felt a hand shake his shoulder and he opened his eyes without a word.

"Budge up," Sirius ordered, and Remus obeyed again, both pleased and slightly alarmed when the other man slid into bed beside him.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They lay rigid, staring up at the ceiling, weirdly reminding Remus of an old couple that had been married for far too long. Naturally, Sirius was the first to speak.

"Sorry about earlier. Didn't mean to freak you out."

"You didn't freak me out."

"I did."

"Only a bit."

Sirius laughed and shifted in the bed. Remus could feel him, relaxing against him as their arms brushed.

"I just wasn't expecting it. It's alright though," he said, unsure whether or not to move away from the warm touch. "You were pretty drunk."

He didn't turn, but he knew Sirius was looking at him.

"Do you think I only make decisions like that when I'm drunk?"

"Well…" The debate Remus had with himself about whether or not to bring up Jake or Leo was brief. He didn't want to annoy Sirius even more. "I don't know."

"Because I wasn't that drunk."

"Whatever it was, Sirius, I just assumed that the reasons behind the whole... _thing _happening were due to something other than..."

"Me fancying you?"

Another long silence.

"Well you don't, do you?" said Remus, voice barely above a whisper.

Remus heard the swish of hair against the pillow as Sirius turned on to his back again, not answering.

"Sirius, you don't, do you?"

When still he didn't speak, Remus started to panic. It was all getting far too dramatic for his liking. It had only been a kiss, for goodness' sake. A brief, drunken kiss. Not even a particularly well-executed kiss, and yet here they were, two grown men lying side by side in a bed, behaving like primary school children.

"Because we don't really know each other –"

"Give over, Remus, we basically lived together at one point. I mean, that's what it was. Living together. You slept next to me on a bus for a month." Sirius was using that snap of his, the one he usually reserved for James but had started using with Remus more and more frequently as of late.

Another long silence. The clock ticked loudly in the hallway. Achilles gave a mournful yowl. Several ambulances whirred past outside. Remus kept his eyes straight ahead, locked on to the ceiling medallion, his skin prickling, mouth horribly dry.

"So... you're saying..."

"I think you're alright, yeah?" Sirius said. "And I thought you were... you know. I thought you might think I was too."

"I don't know," said Remus quietly. "I've never really fancied anyone."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He'd had girlfriends but his relationships were all short-lived and a bit disastrous. In fact, he was never sure whether to refer to them as relationships or blips. He did like musicians though. David Bowie was nice-looking. And Peter Frampton.

And Sirius was too. Sirius was alright. More than.

In that moment, Remus decided he was going to tell him. He'd echo it back to him, tell him he was "alright", because that was the sort of thing they did on television. It was quirky and romantic, and Remus Lupin could be quirky and romantic just like anyone else.

So he'd say it.

"I do think you're alright though, Sirius... but maybe we should just stay friends for now."

Well. Sort of say it.

It was too dark to see Sirius's reaction. Remus thought it would be just a bit too arrogant to assume he'd be disappointed.

"Yeah," Sirius said eventually, tugging the bed sheets his way a little. "Yeah, alright."

And that was that. No more said. Now it seemed the time for them to pretend to sleep, clock ticking loudly, cat meowing, traffic chugging along outside, the whole world completely oblivious to the fact that Remus Lupin had sufficiently destroyed any chances he might have had at keeping someone's interest, someone he might actually have interest in himself.

Night One had been a disaster and now, so had Night Two. He couldn't just be spontaneous, could he? Couldn't just throw caution to the wind. Could never, ever just take things as they came.

He chanced a glance at Sirius beside him. His chest was rising and falling steadily, but Remus wasn't sure if he was asleep or just pretending. One thing he could be sure of though was that it was Sunday tomorrow, the day he was supposed to be going home, and after that Sirius would probably never speak to him again.

The thought was harrowing. Unable to help himself, Remus heaved a great sigh.

_Bugger_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Warnings:** None

**A/N:** The OC (by the name of Alfie Fletcher) is not a relation to Mundungus. I only realised the name share after I'd written the chapter, and I love saying "Alfie Fletcher" in a West Country accent too much to change it. He's not an important/recurring character by the way. You guys should be used to OCs popping up everywhere in this story by now! Thank you again for everyone's wonderful feedback. It's truly appreciated.

* * *

><p>His mum called when he got back. Remus was shoving clothes into his decrepit washing machine when the phone trilled. They didn't really need washing since he'd worn Sirius's shag's cast-offs for one of the nights, but he felt like he couldn't wear his own clothes again without being reminded of his mortifying actions over the weekend if he didn't chuck them in with the next lot of laundry straight away.<p>

She invited him for tea, and he had to say yes because it was Sunday, and he was single, and he wasn't working, so what excuse could he possibly conjure?

Remus had never had a particularly bad relationship with his parents but his mother was very good at rubbing him up the wrong way. She'd tried very hard to understand him and what he was interested in as a teenager, but since he was an only child, and they lived in the kind of place where everyone knew one another and were constantly talking, there were certain expectations placed on him that he'd never lived up to.

Naturally, his mother thought the dinner table a good place to bring these expectations up.

"Now Dad and I have been talking," she began carefully that same evening, "and you'll never guess what, Remus."

She smiled at him from across the table, eyes wide and considerably make-up'd, fingernails long and painted and daintily tapping her best Debenhams silverware. Mrs Lupin was the kind of woman who liked to pretend she didn't grow up in Gloucester and marry a dairy farmer. That was why she did everything in her power to swap her "oy"s for "eye"s and "love"s for "darling"s. That was why she gave him a duff name like Remus. And she'd never been "mam" like all the other kids' mums, oh no. In fact, she'd brought him up saying "mother", but much to her disappointment he'd stopped when the other kids poked fun at him. They'd called him Little Lord Lupin, and he'd felt like a bit of a wanker.

His father, quiet and reserved, let her get on with it. She was, after all, probably the closest to a 'classy lady' you would find in those parts.

"The blind needs rehanging?" Remus suggested now, hoping that wasn't the case actually since it had been a considerable pain in the arse to hang the first time.

"The blind –? No, that was fine –"

"The sink then. The kitchen sink needs seeing to."

"Remus!"

"What?"

"Just say 'what'!"

He sighed. "What?"

His mother cast a glance to his father and wriggled in her seat a bit, as thought it were the most exciting piece of news in the world.

"Do you remember Mr Fletcher?" she asked. "And his son Alfie?"

"He's about your age," his father added, pointing at him with his knife.

"Vaguely," Remus mumbled. He remembered Alfie. He used to grab his legs when they did swimming at school so he wouldn't win any races. And Remus was pretty sure he'd been the founder of the Lord Lupin joke. What a knob.

"Well Mr Fletcher bought all that empty land last year, remember? At the auction? Lord knows what he wanted it for. Anyway, he's gone and given it to Alfie, and it's been turned into a sort of..."

"Farm?" Remus suggested helpfully. If there was empty land in Gloucester it was more than likely going to become home to a farm or a farm house. He knew where this conversation was leading and he didn't see how Alfie Fletcher building a farm house could benefit him in his parents' eyes. A farm on the other hand...

"No!" his mother all but snapped. "Not a _farm_. It's more of a... an animal home."

"So a farm then."

"It's a rescue centre. Sort of. Like the RSPCA and that."

"Right." There was a long pause while Remus looked down at his plate, toying with a bit of broccoli. "Good, that."

His father hummed. His mother looked irritated.

"Remus!" she said again. "Alfie's kindly offered you a job! Isn't that wonderful?"

Remus stared at her, fork poised. He didn't speak for a few moments as he mulled over the important issues at hand.

"Do people even get paid in places like that?" he asked eventually, motioning with his fork as though the "rescue centre" was right there in the corner of the dining room.

"Well, it's not a charity, it's more like a..."

"Kennel," his father supplied.

"Minimum wage to work with rabid dogs?" Remus snorted. "Brilliant."

It would be like working with the lunatic dog that lived next door, except there would be many a lunatic dog. No doubt it was a steady income – and Gloucestershire definitely didn't have a shortage of stray animals – but it was probably one of the last things which screamed 'Dream Job' to him, preferable only to helping to build the local sewage plant which she'd suggested to him a couple of weeks ago.

"I thought you loved animals!"

"Yeah, when I was about six, Mum. We've since discovered I'm allergic to most of them."

"It might be minimum wage," she went on, completely ignoring him, "but at least you wouldn't be working on commission like with that awful job you have now. If one could even call it a job."

She'd been reading a lot of historical romances lately and had taken to saying "one" a lot. Presently he debated between teasing her over this and protesting that his job wasn't awful. In the end, he didn't go with either.

"Oh, well that's good," he said, summoning as much sarcasm as he could. "So if I have an off-day and don't _quite_manage to shove some innocent creature into a cage, I'll still get a couple of quid?"

"Forget it," she said exasperatedly, flapping a tea towel at the table as though he was just too much for her to handle. "Here we are, trying to help you, and all you do is give us cheek. Alfie Fletcher's a lovely boy –"

"I don't like Alfie Fletcher, he used to chase me round the quad with nettles."

"– and you actually have the opportunity to take up a proper job. Start a career and that. Make some _money_."

"Hey, I bought my house with the money I made from that magazine," he protested.

"After how many months of sleeping on that Fenwick boy's couch?"

"That was two weeks, Mum."

"And anyway, you only got that house cheap because it had damp and ants."

"I got rid of the ants! And I moved out of the bedroom with the damp."

"Remus!" she said again. She still said it in exactly the same way she had when he was a kid. They couldn't possibly have a conversation about homes and jobs without her treating him like a fifteen-year-old so how, Remus wondered, were they ever going to get anywhere?

"It's time you start thinking seriously. Dad and I are worried about you," she said sternly, gesturing to his father at the head of the table who couldn't have looked less worried if he'd tried as he took a long gulp of ginger beer. "You know we love you and we don't mind helping you along with the gas and electricity from time to time, but it's just money down a well, darling."

Then her hazel eyes lit up, and she stuck a finger in the air in a way that reminded Remus of Dudley Do-Right.

"Why don't you sell your house and _invest_in something?"

"Mum…" he groaned, looking at his plate and placing his fork down, appetite fully lost. She didn't really understand what investment was or how it worked, but it sounded good and besides, as she so often reminded him –

"Mary Yeats's son invested in woodland last year. Woodland! Can you imagine? You could live here while you do it. We've still got your old bedroom, haven't we, Dad?"

But her voice was strained, and as she stood and started busying herself with clearing the dinner plates away, she looked at him with such hopeful eyes. _Please, Remus. Please invest in woodland. Or carrot farming. Or something. Anything._

"Or maybe," she continued tentatively, swiping up her husband's plate before he'd even put his cutlery down, "maybe you could do a degree. In music, like you always wanted to? You could be a teacher then. We were so proud when you got accepted into King's, weren't we, John? I bet King's would let you in if you reminded them –"

"Mum. They made me that offer five years ago."

They _had_ been proud. His mum had told anyone who would listen. _Yes, that's right. King's College. The one in London._And really, that was what this was all about now. He knew his mum wanted him to have enough money to support himself, and he knew she wanted him to be happy – but she very much wanted something to brag about to her Ladies' Luncheon Club mates too.

"Well it was just a suggestion," she trilled.

She carried on talking from the kitchen but it was more to herself, something about "opportunity" and "being realistic" and "wasting your life away in that ridiculous job" that Remus forced himself not to listen to. His father, now without a meal to distract him, leaned back in his chair and gave him a smile.

"She just worries," he said kindly. It was something he'd always said, and it was predictable but it comforted Remus all the same. He loved his dad a lot. He was modest and caring and he kept things simple. He didn't like fuss or superficiality, and in that sense Remus found him a lot easier to relate to than his mother.

"I know, Dad."

"How was London then?"

Remus shrugged, idly pushing the hugging salt and pepper shakers together and then apart with his fingers. "Nice, really nice. Different."

"Course it was. They're like a different species, Londoners," his dad said, chuckling. "Do you remember when we took you to London Zoo and the geese chased you for that bread?"

Remus smiled and nodded, but in truth the memory was hazy; he'd only been about six at the time. He was reminded of the Saturday just gone by though, climbing the zoo wall with Sirius like a kid, those mischievous grey eyes glinting in the warm evening sun.

He physically shook his head to rid himself of the thought. His dad gave him an odd look.

"Alright, son?"

"Fine. Tired, that's all. Didn't sleep very well."

He'd managed an hour or so of sleep around dawn, until a combination of a loud car horn outside and Sirius's hand in his face, flung from dreaming, woke him with a start.

Sirius on the other hand had slept just fine, practically the whole night except for once when he got up to go to the loo. When the man had slid back into bed Remus lay rigid beside him, frantically debating whether or not to speak until Sirius dropped off again and he realised he'd missed his chance.

"Dad…" he said slowly now, still knocking the shaker lovers back and forth across his patch of table. "Do you ever think maybe I'm a bit... awkward?"

"Awkward?" his father echoed, eyebrows raised.

"Difficult then. Shy."

"You've always been quiet, Remus. But it's never been an issue."

"Not here maybe," Remus muttered. He hadn't really meant to say it, and his voice was low but his dad still heard.

"What's the matter? Your London friends have a problem with you being quiet?"

"No," Remus said, although that probably wasn't entirely true. He paused to make sure his mother was busy, and when a clatter of plates and hollow thud of the draining board confirmed she was, he carried on. "I just feel like I keep buggering things up and ruining chances and saying the wrong thing. Do you ever feel like that? Like you just can't seem to say the right thing?"

"Well..." His dad looked a little flustered, and it was a while before he answered, in a tone of surprise and truthfulness: "No. No, I can't say I really think about it. But you know, Remus, if this is some sort of, er, emotional thing, maybe you're best talking to your mam about it."

"No, it's not. It's nothing. Just thinking aloud and..." He sighed. He could barely even be coherent to his own father now. What was he _doing_, talking about _feelings_to his traditional, dairy farmer dad?

Maybe he really was properly bent after all.

"I don't want to live in Gloucester forever," he said abruptly. He pushed the salt and pepper holders away from him.

His dad looked up sharply.

"Where did that come from?" he asked, the cheerful tone now replaced with one of utmost concern.

"I've just been thinking recently and... there was this girl on Saturday. Well, more of a woman really –"

"A girl? Pretty?"

"No, I – she works for this magazine –"

"A magazine," his father repeated, and if he'd been mean enough it would surely have been accompanied with an eye roll, maybe a disappointed _you and your magazines_. His mother would have done it in a heartbeat, had she been in the room.

"A really, really good one, Dad. You know, that people have actually heard of. She said she might put in a good word or something. I don't know. It might be nothing. It's not like she's read any of my stuff. But if it _is_nothing I think I want to give it a go anyway. In London, I mean."

"In London," came the flat reply.

Remus swallowed. His dad rarely looked upset about anything - at least, not at _him_. In fact, Remus couldn't remember the last time he had, but he felt like it had been a long time ago. Licking his lips, he went on determinedly: "I want to try writing somewhere bigger, better."

It was a long time before his dad replied. "This is your home."

Remus scratched at his forearm, avoiding his father's eye. He gave the tiniest of shrugs. "Everyone leaves home someday," he said softly.

"Who's leaving?" His mother appeared from out of nowhere, flinging her tea towel on to her shoulder. "Where's he going, John?"

"To the pub," Remus answered before his dad could, already starting to stand. He was glad that it wasn't a lie. The next _Soundscape_issue had been printed over the weekend, and Dorcas had rung that afternoon, not long after his mother, to tell him they'd be waiting in the pub for him with a copy that evening, ready to show him.

His mother made a few grumbles about him never wanting dessert and being far too skinny, but she let him go, and as he pulled his jacket on his father offered him a smile that was difficult to read. At first it just looked tired, but on second glance it somehow seemed really _disappointed_too.

Remus forced it to the back of his mind as he left the house, The Old Crown only a short walk away. He didn't like upsetting his parents, especially his dad, but the couple of days spent in London with Sirius, despite ending somewhat disastrously, had filled him with this renewed sense of determination, the hope that he might actually be able to do something positive with his life.

Sirius and even Marlene had been right: there was no point being a music journalist in a place like this. He'd defended his _Soundscape_pay and his crap house against his mother's tirade to make an effective argument against working on Alfie Fletcher's farm, kennel, whatever it was.

But compared to the beautiful Camden town houses, the market, the parks, the canals, coming back to number 26 had been just a bit too shit this time. Even worse than when he came back from the tour, because at least then he had consoled himself with the fact that he no longer had to sleep on that awful bus. Now though, he was experiencing the sharp contrast between the capital city and his gloomy village in such a short space of time and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

And then, on top of all of _that_, when he'd returned home from London that afternoon he'd just got out of Sirius's Firebird, had just seen that famous smile in person for what would surely be the last time.

* * *

><p>"Da-da-da-da!" Dorcas produced a glossy magazine from behind her back as Benjy and Emmeline shifted further along the pub booth's bench to let Remus sit down.<p>

She held it out to him in both hands, flat, like she was holding the Dead Sea Scrolls, and he took it from her before he'd even properly sat down or taken his jacket off. He smiled down at it, and four faces sneered back up at him.

"Open it!" Emmeline demanded.

"Naturally, we didn't wait for you to get here before having a look," said Benjy.

"Naturally," Remus murmured with a grin, flipping to the centre of the magazine and laying it out on the table. There it was, for the world to see, in black and white. Well, for the county of Gloucestershire to see anyway. And it was more blue and silver and than black and white.

"It looks really good, guys," he said softly, glancing up at the two proud girls opposite.

"Doesn't read half badly either!" Dorcas laughed, nudging him.

He nibbled his lower lip as his eyes scanned the pages; the bright, glossy photographs, exclusive to _Soundscape;_the bolded quotations; his own name, right there in the introduction.

"It's weird, isn't it? Seeing your name on something brand new that people are going to pick up and actually read," said Emmeline excitedly.

"Our first exclusive," Dorcas burbled. "It's on to bigger and better things after this. Frank said so. He reckons sales are going to double."

Remus wasn't so sure about that. Blue Stag were sufficiently famous for an exclusive on them to be a big deal, but the lack of any other new material in the rest of the magazine meant that even if people bought hundreds of this particular issue, they weren't necessarily going to suddenly be landed with a million and one subscribers overnight. This industry was about consistency (at least, that was what his A Level English teacher had warned him on his last day of school upon his confession that he wasn't going to university) and it was no good if they didn't have anything else new to offer.

Moody had made it clear that if they got a good response, he'd help the little magazine out. But Remus wasn't so sure Moody actually cared that much. He'd got his feature. It looked fantastic. Who was to say it wouldn't then be a case of thank-you-and-goodbye after that?

Still, Remus didn't want to spoil the moment. The others were excited, and he indulged them with smiles and excited agreements, ignoring the voice in the back of his head reminding him that only a short while ago he was talking about trying to get a better writing gig in London.

"Great pictures, aren't they?" Benjy chipped in. He pointed to the largest photo on the page, underneath the title. "Reminds me of the _Highway to Hell_cover, this one."

It did look like it actually: James pouting at the front, Peter skulking in the background, even Fabian laughing off to the side like Bon Scott. And then Sirius, placed at the front too but ever so slightly in James's shadow, looking cool and unimpressed. Remus didn't know how people managed to look cool and unimpressed on photographs. He had two faces for them: smiling like a twat or caught off guard.

"Not hard to have great photographs when the people in them are so bloody gorgeous," Emmeline gushed, before her eyes locked firmly on to Remus. "Which brings us to our next point! How was your weekend with _Sirius Black_?"

She sounded out every letter of the name with utmost precision, holding the magazine up in front of Remus' face and pointing to the bassist as though he needed reminding who Sirius Black was. Her tone of voice suggested she'd been dying to ask ever since Remus had arrived, but given the significance of the magazine publishing felt it inappropriate to pounce on him about it straight away. Now the initial viewing of the magazine was out of the way, however...

"I can't believe you got to stay at Sirius Black's house," Dorcas jumped in.

"You don't have to say his last name all the time, you know," said Remus.

"Sorry we're not _all_on first name basis with big fancy rock stars, Lupin," said Emmeline, but she grinned at him. "So go on. What's his house like? What did you do?"

"Did you meet his girlfriend?"

"He doesn't have a girlfriend," said Remus, for what seemed like the hundredth time. "He has a cat."

The girls cooed and giggled ridiculously.

"What's its name?"

"Love a man with a sensitive side."

"No no, go on, Remus. What did you do?"

He shrugged helplessly, never one to indulge minute details. "Went out, stayed in." _Got drunk, rejected the most attractive person to ever take an interest in me, shared a bed with him, lay awake all night, mortified by my embarrassment of a life._

"With just him? Was James Potter there?"

"At one point."

"What about Fabian?" Benjy asked as the girls squealed. He accompanied his own enquiry with a sip of his pint, as if to try and prove he was not a fan girl in the slightest but a manly professional.

"I didn't see him. I don't even know if he lives in London, and they haven't started work on the new record yet, so..." He shrugged. "It was mostly Sirius and James and some other, er, friends of theirs."

"Famous?" said Emmeline hopefully. "Anyone who wants a feature?"

Remus shook his head. "Just a few writers. Like I said, we didn't go out much."

He wanted a drink, cider or something, but the others had already closed in around him and showed no intentions of letting him get up. They seemed disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm in his weekend adventures, but as usual it was Dorcas who took it for something other than Remus's characteristic introversion.

"What's the matter, Remus? Didn't you have a good time?"

She looked genuinely concerned, and for a moment Remus was actually glad to be back at home, surrounded by his real friends. They got on his nerves a bit at times, and he was sure he got on theirs, but at least they weren't fake, not like Marlene and Caradoc had seemed, or all the groupies on tour. They didn't look down on him. When he gave Dorcas a warm smile in return, it was genuine.

"Nothing's the matter. I'm a bit tired, that's all," he said, using the same line he'd used for his father.

"Nothing a pint won't sort out though, yeah?" said Benjy, standing and clapping Remus on the back as he went to get the first rounds in.

* * *

><p>Remus liked Strongbow. It was sweet and fresh. It had a certain kick to it, and it didn't give him a blinding headache like wine and spirits. If he had no intention of getting drunk, he could drink it. If he had every intention of getting drunk, it was pretty good at managing that too, and at that moment in time, sat in the pub surrounded by <em>Soundscape<em>'s little team, he'd decided on the latter of the two aims.

He wanted to forget that he made a fool out of himself at every interval. He wanted to forget how Sirius surely didn't want anything to do with him anymore. And when a substantial amount of cider had been consumed he concluded, mentally of course, that any rift between himself and Sirius was purely as a result of the musician's inability to keep his hands to himself. Remus, the alcohol told him, had acted in the most correct way possible in rejecting the insatiable man's advances and, satisfied with this, he detached himself from his equally as inebriated friends, clasped the newest _Soundscape_ issue to his chest, said his goodbyes and left The Old Crown.

He walked home with what he assumed was a spring in his step – and was more likely a drunken slouch – pleased at his assertion that it was Sirius who had made things awkward and not him.

This reassuring claim was marred, however, when he got home. The first thing he did, after dropping the magazine on the side table and flinging his jacket on to the armchair, was flop down on the couch, grope for the remote and switch the telly on. Suddenly, he was face to face with the one person he had already convinced himself he would never see again, and he groaned, more at his moronic self for switching the TV on than at the sight of Sirius Black's stupidly handsome, TV-enhanced features.

It was a _Live from Knebworth_ re-run (he could tell it was a re-run because Sirius's hair was still fairly long, detective that Remus was), a mixed gig rather than one focused solely on Blue Stag. They were famous but perhaps not to the extent that the BBC would stick just them on telly on a Sunday evening.

Of course, Remus had to _just_ turn the television on when they happened to be doing their slot, rather than when it was The Belle Stars or Carly Simon or something.

And of course, he couldn't switch on when James, the _lead singer_ of Blue Stag, was fulfilling his role as lead singer. He had to find them doing a Stones cover. He had to find Sirius singing, while James bashed away at the piano. He had to find Sirius looking really, really brilliant.

"Really?" Remus said out loud, glancing up at the ceiling to the taunting God that was surely listening. Still, he didn't turn it off.

He recognised the song immediately of course. 'Rocks Off', first track on _Exile on Main St_. It had been one of the albums Sirius waxed lyrical about on tour. Blue Stag had sped the song up considerably and they didn't have a brass section, but Remus had to admit it still sounded pretty bloody good. He didn't know why they didn't write more stuff like this themselves, stuff a bit less heavy and mental, stuff that wasn't just about how many drug metaphors you could think up for sex. They should have switched the roles up more too. James was actually an alright pianist, and Sirius could clearly pull off a Jagger song far better than his best mate.

Sirius was a better singer than James, Remus thought suddenly. Or maybe not a better singer, but a better frontman at least. He didn't prance around the stage. He didn't beckon at the audience to work themselves up into a frenzy. He focused on what he himself was doing, put that first, and because he was enjoying it the whole performance was so much more captivating

Remus watched closely – or as closely as he could in his current state – as the camera focused on the bassist singing, scrunching his nose up, moving with the rhythm, seeming to create a harmony within the band that wasn't there with James, even if his vocals were more clean cut. Remus remained transfixed, staring dumbly, smiling only once when Sirius broke off as they drew into the chorus to say "let's risk it" and swivel the microphone towards the large crowd. To Remus's relief, they sang the next line with enthusiasm and continued to sing along until the very loud, very dramatic end.

The camera started to fade when they finished, and Remus grabbed for the remote again to switch it off. But then the four of them re-appeared, sitting this time, outside with the stage far away behind them, another band playing. They were still in the clothes they'd worn on stage and James had a towel too since he tended to sweat profusely when performing live.

A blonde woman with shocking pink streaks and a lip ring sat opposite them on a tall stool with a large Knebworth House microphone.

"Great performance, boys. How was it for you?" she asked brightly, to which they all murmured appropriate responses. "This is your first time at the Knebworth Concert, is this something of a significant moment for Blue Stag?" she asked, this time specifying James as it was under his nose that she stuck the microphone.

"Yeah, definitely. So many great bands that we love have played here, you know," he said a little breathlessly. "Led Zeppelin, Genesis – Fabian's heroes – the Stones, course."

"Is that why you picked to perform a Rolling Stones song? To honour them?"

James started to say something along the lines of "we're definitely huge fans" until Fabian pitched in with, "We just thought our own material was a bit too crap for a gig of this calibre".

The interviewer – and only Sirius and Peter – laughed appreciatively.

"That's not true, though. You've just received a gold record for your debut album, and two recent Grammy nominations. Congratulations there! How did you find the States?"

So it _was_ an old recording then, if the nominations were being called "recent".

"It was fantastic. We'd definitely love to tour there. Outcome was a bit disappointing," James replied.

"We weren't really expecting Album of the Year, to be fair. There were so many great, established artists nominated," said Peter.

"Yeah," James agreed, "but Best New Artist would have been cool."

"Yeah." Now it was Sirius who spoke for the first time. "Went to Sheena Easton instead."

They all laughed in a way that made it plain there was some inside joke going on, and the interviewer sniggered and tossed her hair as though she understood too.

"Sirius, you don't normally take centre stage during concerts. What made you change your mind today?"

"James has got a bit of a sore throat."

"It's not something you'd like to do more often then? The crowd responded well to you."

"They're a good crowd, yeah," he replied, but that was all he said on the matter. He uncapped his bottle and drank, showing he was finished talking.

Remus knew Sirius was notoriously awkward in interviews, barely ever saying anything, even when directly spoken to. He'd known that since before he met Blue Stag from perusing Benjy's little collection of interviews and articles. Saying as little as possible was probably an attempt at making double sure he didn't say anything he'd later regret, but Remus wondered if it had the opposite of the desired effect and in fact made people more curious to find out about the mysterious Sirius Black.

Indeed, the interviewer continued to ask questions that were obviously aimed at enticing the bassist to speak, but it was mostly James, Peter and Fabian who answered for the rest of the interview. She wrapped it up with a resigned "thank you" and a brief announcement of their upcoming UK tour – the tour that Remus, in fact, had written for. Then the screen switched to some folk-punk duo, and they were gone.

So it was an old recording. And Sirius just happened to be singing. And they just happened to be fantastic.

What the bloody hell was that all about?

"Is this a sign?" Remus asked, drunkenly, tiredly. He raised his arms up to the ceiling, letting them flop back down again with a huff. "Is this a sign? Is it supposed to be like a film? Am I supposed to phone him now and tell him I'm sorry for being boring and weird, because you've sent me this sign?"

Silence, of course. He was suddenly irritated. It was mocking him, that silence. Mocking him like the awkward mug he was. Mocking him like Alfie Fletcher with his twatting nettles. Well, he'd show it. _He could make a call_.

"I can make a call!" he cried, struggling to sit up and stumbling into the kitchen straight to his olive green Ambassador. His hand was darting towards the handset with drunken determination when, as if by magic, the phone began to ring.

He blinked.

Sirius had had the same idea of ringing him? At this exact moment in time? Maybe this _was_ a sign. And who was he to destroy the magic?

Hastily, he picked it up.

"Hello!" He didn't bother to say it like a question, since of course he already knew who it was.

"Hiya! Remus?"

Or maybe not. Sirius seemed to have morphed into a female.

"Oh. Hello. Who's this?"

"It's Alice. From the club? In Camden? You said you'd be back on Sunday so I thought this might be a reasonable time."

Remus was confronted with a strange feeling then. On the one hand, his momentary high of thinking he and Sirius shared a telepathic relationship was now shattered, leaving him more than a bit disappointed. On the other, he'd been hoping the eccentric girl from the Palace had been serious about calling him, so it was quite nice to know she hadn't just flat-out lied to him.

He didn't reply straight away, mind still slightly fuzzy, and he heard the hesitation in her voice when she said, "Is it not?"

"Of course it is, it's fine. How are you, Alice?"

She laughed, sounding relieved. "I'm great, how are you? I was wanting to know if you were still up for this writing affair."

"Yeah, course," he said urgently, pressing the phone closer to his ear as though it would make his point more clear.

"That's brilliant," she chirped. "You'll need a fair few pieces, I suppose. Five or six maybe? If you have more though I could always help you decide. Over coffee, or something."

"I don't drink coffee, I'm really sorry." In his current state it seemed like a legitimate concern.

She laughed again, making him jump and wrench the phone from his ear for a moment. "Alright, tea then," she suggested.

"I like tea, so I think that that would be fine."

"Glad to hear it. When will you be in London? Or I could come to you."

She sounded so eager that it bothered him a bit; he hated making plans on the spot, whereas Alice was clearly the spontaneous sort.

"Erm. I don't know," he said slowly. "I'll have to phone you. I'll phone you soon, I won't leave it. But I don't know at the moment."

"Okay, okay. I look forward to hearing from you."

"Alice?"

"Yes?" she answered immediately.

"Why are you helping me?"

There was a short pause before she replied, "It's not a big deal, Remus. _Preacher_ are always looking to recruit since we don't have that many steady writers. It's just what I do."

"Okay."

"I can't guarantee they'll want you."

"Okay." But even as he said it, he glanced into the front room where the magazine lay on the coffee table and smiled to himself. _They'll want me. I have an exclusive. I know Sirius Black. Sirius Black wanted to snog me. They'll want me... surely?_

When Alice had gone, Remus climbed the stairs to his bedroom, dodging books and papers and junk to get to the little-used wardrobe (little-used because most of his clothes were in messy heaps in various parts of the room). Opening it, he found two large cardboard boxes, one filled with an issue of every _Soundscape_ magazine in existence, and the other with the majority of the final drafts of articles he'd written over the years, not just _Soundscape_ but pieces he'd written during his A Levels for local newspapers too.

He began haphazardly rifling through them, most of them, he was not afraid to admit in his slightly inebriated state, a load of bollocks. Still, he began picking out the kinds of things _Preacher_ would be interested in: a complete analysis of every Beatles album, Kinks song stories, a particularly scathing U2 review which he'd always been sort of ashamed of but which now seemed to him suddenly glorious.

He was damning the lack of chronological ordering within the box when the phone rang once more. Thinking it was Alice – no doubt to tell him the whole idea was off – he hoisted himself up, tripping over papers as he left the room and trundled down the stairs, just about managing to get to the phone on about the seventh ring.

"Hey," he said breathlessly, leaning against the fridge for support; he'd just slid his way into the kitchen like Nightcrawler or something.

"You sound out of breath," said an amused voice. "Busy?"

"Sirius," he stated. He ran a quick hand through his hair, as though the man could see him. "I wasn't busy, I was – I was watching you on TV actually. Not just now, before. Knebworth. You were at Knebworth. You sang!"

"What? Oh. I think I remember that," said Sirius disinterestedly. "Are you alright?"

"What?"

"You sound drunk." Remus thought he heard the smile in his voice when Sirius added, "Have you been drinking your sorrows away? Do you miss me already?"

He was so surprised to be talking to Sirius that, moronically, he blurted out, "Yes. I mean no. I mean – why are you calling?" He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a fist against his head repeatedly as Sirius huffed out a gentle laugh.

"We're playing this gig, at the Guildhall near where you live. It's not our usual stuff, it's this acoustic set we're thinking of recording before the next album." He paused, clearly expecting a response. Then, in a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation, he continued, "I was wondering if you wanted to maybe come and watch."

"The Guildhall," Remus repeated slowly, still allowing the invitation to sink in. "That's a pretty cool venue."

"Yeah, I know," said Sirius enthusiastically. "It's really small too, only holds about four hundred people. It's invitation only, by the way and, well... I already had your name put on the list before it filled up."

"When did you find out about this?" asked Remus, not really sure why he wanted to know in the first place. He'd just been told Sirius had put his name on the list without asking him first. Why did it matter when he'd found out about the gig? The list! His name! On it!

"Today. After I dropped you off, remember? I said there was a meeting, with Moody and the lads."

Remus did vaguely remember Sirius mentioning something about a band meeting, but he'd been too wrapped up in the previous night's events to really take it in at the time.

"It was Fabian's idea actually," Sirius went on. "You know, to play at the Gloucester Guildhall instead of London's, to sort of accompany what you wrote. We thought maybe you could review it for us. Send it to that magazine you were talking about."

He was rather touched that Sirius remembered, since he had been fairly certain that the musician had been drunk when he'd told him about what Alice had said. Plus, he knew it would be fantastic to give them a review of an invitation-only gig. They'd think he was "in the scene". They'd think he had "contacts". Which, he supposed, he did really. In small amounts.

"When is it?" he asked.

"Wednesday," came the quick reply. "Wednesday evening, starts at seven. You're coming, right?"

"I can come," Remus assured him. He wasn't sure he was free actually, but never mind. If he wasn't free, he'd make himself free. He wasn't about to lose his one chance to redeem himself, and get a great story at the same time.

"Good. And Remus?"

Remus froze. Something told him Sirius's next words were going to be very, very significant. An apology, maybe. Or, even better, an "I'm not sorry, I don't regret a thing" type statement. His still slightly drunken self decided that would be terribly exciting. Or maybe he was going to suggest they do something afterwards, like "grabbing a coffee". He didn't, as he'd already explained to Alice, drink coffee, but he'd grab one if Sirius suggested it.

"You left your toothbrush at mine, if you were wondering where it was."

Perhaps not that significant then. But useful information all the same. And at least now he didn't have to pretend to like coffee.

He thanked Sirius, assured him he would be there, silently debated with himself whether or not to mention anything further, decided against it, and said goodbye.

Slumping against the fridge in the greyness of his kitchen, he marvelled at how much of a result that had been. Not only was he going to an invitation-only private concert, Sirius didn't hate him! Sirius had put his name on the list without asking him. That either meant he knew Remus was a pushover, or he really wanted him to go. Remus hoped very much it was the latter.

He knew that for most people, receiving two good-news phone calls in a short space of time, at the end of a strange, somewhat disastrous weekend, would result in some sort of victory merriment or celebration. Therefore, he decided to put the kettle on.


	10. Chapter 10

**Warnings:** Mild sexual content

* * *

><p>Remus did consider telling the others about the Guildhall gig. It took approximately two and a half minutes before he concluded that he wouldn't. Still, they found out about it anyway. Frank was signed up for all sorts of newsletters and notifications about performances in the surrounding areas, including ones at the Guildhall since it was the county's most well-known and respected live music venue.<p>

That was why Remus had Dorcas round on the evening of the gig, throwing various shirts at him and sighing long-sufferingly at everything he tried on. He hadn't invited her but she'd insisted that he wasn't going to the show with just anything on his back. She seemed to have it in her head that he would be representing Soundscape. He definitely wasn't about to tell her and Emmeline and Benjy and Frank that he was going to review the show for a different magazine altogether. He felt guilty enough about it as it was, without having to face their hurt expressions and complaints. Benjy would probably smack him one.

But then, what did they expect him to do? Sit around and wait for Freddie Mercury or Jimmy Page to wander into the countryside and demand a feature? His mother, much as he hated to admit it, had been right: he needed some sort of steady income, even if he didn't want to obtain that in the way she happened to have in mind.

So he didn't express his intentions to the others and he allowed Dorcas to continue trying to dress him with the assumption that he was merely going to the gig to impress the band enough to get them to come back to The Old Crown and have one of them whisk her off her feet.

"You can't wear that," she spluttered now, gesticulating so wildly she slopped tea down her wrist.

Remus plucked at his Floyd Cramer t-shirt, confused. Bar a couple of wonderfully soft jumpers, it was his absolute favourite item of clothing. It was laundry-softened and purple and it clung to his body in a warm, comforting kind of way.

"Why not? What's wrong with it?"

Dorcas stood up from his bed, holding her mug more securely now and reaching out to him with the other hand.

"Well, there's nothing really _wrong_ with it," she said, tugging at it. "In fact, it looks quite nice on you. Shows off how skinny you are, lucky thing. But it's _Floyd Cramer_. No one listens to Floyd Cramer."

"He was one of the greatest recording pianists of all time."

"So?"

"He played piano for Elvis."

"I don't care if he played for Danger Mouse, you can't wear another musician's shirt to a different band's gig. That's just wrong. Don't you have a Blue Stag one you can wear?"

She started glancing around his tip of a room, rifling through a nearby heap of clothes.

"Oh come off it. No one actually wears a band's merchandise to their own show," said Remus, watching her. "It's just tacky. Wearing another musician's stuff is... edgy. Shows they have to work to impress me."

He'd read that in a recent copy of Rolling Stone: 'How Not to be the Alien at a Concert', a vital read for someone such as himself (though he'd had to hide the copy so that Frank wouldn't catch him drinking in the words of another publication to relish rather than rival them).

"Wear this instead," Dorcas suggested, picking up a long-sleeved maroon top from the floor.

He snatched it from her exasperatedly. "Dorcas, that's my pyjama top."

"Oh." She blinked. "Well it's very nice."

"I'm wearing this," he said, motioning to the Cramer shirt, "and it'll be fine. Sirius will appreciate it."

He'd said it before he could stop himself; Dorcas, as usual, was quick on the uptake.

"Sirius will appreciate it?" she echoed, adding with a cackle, "What kind of a nancy boy thing to say is that?"

"Oh shut it." He threw the pyjama top at her chest, hard, but she continued to giggle.

"Ah," she cooed, "are you trying to impress your hero?"

"He's not my hero," Remus said firmly, turning to his mirror and pretending he was more interested in doing his hair than talking to her, even though he didn't have much hair to do in the first place. "I'm only going because he asked me to."

She stopped laughing then, and the smile that still played on her lips was one of confusion.

"He's taken a bit of a shine to you, that Sirius Black, hasn't he?" she said after a while.

Remus paused in scrubbing a hand through his hair to look at her in the mirror and shrug.

"Don't get me wrong," she went on, flopping back down on to his unmade bed and cradling her mug thoughtfully, "I think it's really cool. And it's good for you to get away from this place every once in a while but..." She shrugged, smiling up at him hesitantly. "Don't stray too far, will you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just that you don't seem to have been yourself recently," she said carefully. "You seem more... distant. Like you've got something on your mind."

She said it with a little rise like a question, probing him to spill whatever secret he had plaguing him. He scoffed gently, glancing at the bedside clock in the hopes that it was time to go.

"It's been busy recently," he said lamely. "You know it has."

"Is it your mam? Has she been on at you again?"

It was a bit out of the left-field for Dorcas, especially since Remus barely discussed his parents with anyone, lease of all her. He knew, living in the place they did, it was likely Dorcas saw them around town quite a lot anyway, but he couldn't imagine his mother stopping and talking to her; she thought all of his Soundscape friends were odd. "Like little beatniks" she'd once said.

"No," he lied, "of course not. Why are you so concerned all of a sudden anyway?"

"Oh right! My friend's got something bothering him and I can't even show a little concern?"

"But there's nothing bothering me and you're saying these strange things. Asking about my mum and that."

"I am _trying_ to be a nice friend," she grumbled. "You've been acting right funny ever since you came back from that tour, and even funnier since you got back from London."

That was a bit abrupt. He raised his eyebrows at her. He didn't see how he'd been acting "funny". Perhaps he'd been a bit more distracted than usual, but what did she expect? He'd never had anything particularly interesting happen in his life before, and now there _was_ something he found it rather exhausting to say the least. Of course he was bound to be quieter, more concentrated on other things. But acting funny? What did that even mean?

"Feel free to elaborate," he said after a moment's silence.

"Oh I don't know," she whined. She put her mug down, tugged at the sleeves of her oversized jumper and stood up. "You're just so distracted. Frank said you haven't written a thing recently."

"The next issue's going on sale tomorrow, I've got ages to write for the next one!"

"But you've normally written heaps by now," she said. It was odd really, because of them all, Dorcas was the least likely to start a row of any kind. Even as she spoke now she sounded like she was forcing the words out, as though they had to be said but she didn't want to be the one speaking them. "Did you write anything while you were in London?"

"What? No, of course not! I'm not just going to follow Sirius around with a notepad. He invited me as friends, not as another bloody journalist to bother him."

He turned back towards his wardrobe, looking for a pair of decent shoes in the hopes of avoiding any further gripes or question. Concluding that the only shoes in his wardrobe fit to be seen were ones he'd bought for a funeral three years ago, he left the room to search for suitable footwear elsewhere. Dorcas followed.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have minded," she called after him. "You said he was nice!"

"So I should take advantage of that, should I?"

"I've an idea," she announced, ignoring his question.

They were in the downstairs hallway now, her on the bottom step, hands planted on either wall, and him in front of the door with a pair of scuffed black Nikes hanging limply from each hand. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"This gig you're going to," she started, and somehow he knew what she was going to suggest before she'd even said it, "why don't you review it?"

Biting back a sigh, Remus made a motion with his hand for her to shift so he could sit down and pull the Nikes on. He considered an "I'll think about it", but he was always doing that; being a pushover, trying to make other people happy. Why couldn't he just do what he wanted to for once?

"No," he said, as firmly as he could manage.

"Why not?"

"Because, Dorcas, it's called Soundscape, not... Blue Stag Monthly."

"Remus," she said slowly, "magazines feature the same bands consecutively all the time."

"And anyway," he went on, since he knew it was an awful first point and that she was right, "I don't have their permission."

"You don't need permission, you just need an invitation. Which you have."

He sighed again, masking it as exertion with wrestling the second shoe.

"Yes, but I know them. We're sort of... friends now." Well, he and Sirius anyway. James struggled to remember his name, and he doubted Fabian and Peter would recognise him either. "I can't just write about them and not tell them."

"I thought the number one rule of journalism was to be objective," said Dorcas, folding her arms across her chest. "You're letting your feelings get in the way of what could be a fantastic opportunity for us. Knowing Blue Stag is going to open so many doors!"

It was the optimism in her voice, the total faith in the future, that made him wince.

"Look, I've got to go," he said. "I'm going to be late."

So much for saying and doing what he wanted to. Ignoring the subject completely seemed even worse than lying, somehow. Although he was still lying actually – he wasn't going to be late at all. So all in all, he was ignoring the subject and lying. An ignorant liar. Splendid.

"No you're not, it doesn't start until seven."

"I'm meeting Sirius before." That was a lie too.

Dorcas huffed and tugged her coat down off the hallway rack, shrugging it on and tossing her hair out of the collar. She left the house, and while he thought she was going to wait for him, he realised once he'd locked the door she was already up to the garden gate.

"Dor," he sighed, striding after her. "Why are you getting angry at me?"

"I'm not angry." She struggled with the gate, making a frustrated noise when he reached forward and easily opened it for her. "I just don't want you to be late for your _friends_, that's all."

She looked on the verge of marching off then, but they both knew that was a completely un-Dorcas thing to do. She sighed instead and dug her hands in her coat pockets, jingling her keys.

"Look, I'll see you tomorrow, alright? Have a good time tonight." She reached up on tip toes and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheekbone. Then, standing back, her dark eyes scanned over him. "You look really nice," she said, and then she left, not even letting him walk with her to the bus stop.

* * *

><p>He caught the bus into the city centre, forcing himself to put Dorcas's words to the back of his mind as he sat down. He didn't really understand where she was coming from. It was true that he'd had his mind on other things recently, but she was the one who'd babbled about how exciting it was that he'd been to Sirius's house in London.<p>

He had a horrible feeling she knew about everything, which was silly really because he hadn't even tried to send anything off to another magazine yet, and even if he had he would have been perfectly within his rights.

_I'm not obliged to stay at Soundscape for the rest of my life out of pity_ he thought, before physically flinching at how awful he sounded. Knowing Sirius Black and having a stranger offer to show some of his writing to an editor didn't automatically make him better than his friends. If he wasn't careful he was going to end up as big headed as James.

Since it was a chilly wednesday evening, he found the city centre fairly empty. Outside the Guildhall itself, however, were dozens of people – mostly teenagers – milling about, desperate to catch a glimpse of one of the band or probably to worm their way into the concert itself.

The Guildhall was a pretty impressive building – nowhere near as big as London's, of course, which was like a scaled down version of Westminster Abbey – and it had only recently been turned into a music venue. Already a few big names had played there (he remembered Kent DuChaine in particular, that had caused a right commotion) but mostly it was used for "up close and personal" gigs, the musicians acting like they were doing the country bumpkins a huge favour by taking the time out of their big city tours to grace them with their presence.

He stood alone for a few moments at the corner of the Building Society, wondering how he was going to battle through the crowds and then convince the doormen he was on the list while still managing to appear sane.

_My name is really Remus Lupin_, he practised in his head, _Sirius Black invited me, honest_.

But as it happened, and greatly to his relief, he didn't have to in the end. Behind him, large stone stairs led to the stretch of land homing King's Walk, and he heard two sets of footsteps descending them, carrying with them the sounds of crinkling paper. Turning, assuming he was about to be ambushed, he spotted two bright red heads.

Fabian he recognised immediately, though it took him a few seconds to realise that it was Lily, James's girlfriend, accompanying him. He was enveloped in a pair of strong arms before he'd even had a chance to remove the look of surprise from his face.

"Remus! I haven't seen you in ages!" Fabian released him, holding him at arm's length, a bag of strawberry bootlaces in his large hand. "Ah, look at you, mate."

Lily gave him a friendly smile, waggling beautifully manicured fingers. "Hi, Remus."

"Hi, Lily," he managed to return, once Fabian had released his suffocating grip on him.

"What do you think of the gig, eh, Remus? Good idea, hey? Want a lace?" The paper bag was shoved under his nose.

"Er, no thank you– "

"Fabian here was starving," said Lily dryly, picking demurely at her own small bag of pick 'n' mix. "Most unlike him, isn't it? You're here for the show then, aren't you?"

Remus said that he was, and she smiled at him again.

"You're a bit early, but you can come with us if you like. Can't he, Fabian?"

The drummer nodded enthusiastically, mouth full of red liquorice, and Remus smiled back gratefully. He hadn't really got to know Lily very well during the summer but she'd always seemed nice, if a bit fiery. Plus he was really just rather glad to go in with someone else who wasn't actually in the band, otherwise he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

They led him down the alleyway separating the Building Society from the Guildhall, Fabian tossing the hood of his jacket over his head for good measure even though the crowd outside the building showed no signs of turning round and catching sight of him.

"Glad I ran into you actually," Remus confessed. "I didn't fancy facing that mob."

"They've been out here hours, poor things," Lily replied as Fabian held the heavy back door open for the two of them. "If James doesn't come out afterwards to speak to them I'll leave him stranded here."

James, as it happened, was at that time as far from the fans as possible. The back entrance led to a long corridor of dressing rooms and he was sat in the largest, feet propped up on a dressing table, a magazine in his lap. A tall girl with a nose ring was leaning over him, dabbing powder on to his face, and Remus almost smirked.

He wasn't really sure he was supposed to be here, fairly certain James wouldn't want him around anyway. When he looked up though he didn't even notice Remus, especially since there were about a dozen other people in the room, all bustling about clutching bottles and smoking.

"Lily!" James had noticed only her. "Have you seen the shit they're saying about my band?"

Lily rolled her eyes discreetly and wandered over to where James sat huffing at his copy of Sounds newspaper. "No, my sweet, I haven't seen what they're saying about _your_ band."

He passed the newspaper over with a grunt, batting the stylist's hands away from his hair, muttering something like "it's supposed to be that messy".

Remus stood awkwardly as Lily read the offending article with a thoughtful expression on her face, popping sweet bananas and shrimps into her mouth every so often. He glanced around, hoping to spot Sirius, but the bassist, along with Fabian and Peter, was nowhere to be seen.

He was saved, however, when a roadie wearing a headset and a black Filthy Voice jumper jogged in, summoning the band for a final sound check. Fabian was back, out of nowhere, Peter in tow, and someone was saying "find Sirius, find Sirius". Remus was considering volunteering to be the one to help when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Lily.

"Come on," she said, while three of the four band members and their entourage filtered out, "let's go now. I don't fancy being backstage tonight."

She chucked the Sounds newspaper in the bin, pulling a face, and Remus grinned. He allowed her to lead the way to the concert hall even though he probably knew the place better than any of them, but she stopped halfway and suggested they went to the hall bar beforehand, as James hated anyone watching him during sound check.

"This band has turned him into such a perfectionist," she said, and she was laughing but Remus thought he caught a hint of disappointment in her voice too. "When I first met him, he didn't care what he was doing as long as all eyes were on him."

Indeed, when they were finally allowed to go into the concert hall itself with the other few hundred people James was looking suitably smug now that he was safe in the knowledge that his microphone was fine and his voice was warmed up.

And they'd found Sirius, thankfully. He seemed to be his usual mellow self, though it was difficult to read his expression very well since Remus and Lily had been just a few moments too late and had ended up with pretty duff seats at the back. It didn't really matter though. They only needed to be able to hear, and as it turned out, the acoustic arrangements were pretty fantastic.

Both Peter and Sirius played guitar, while James only sang, and Fabian had an array of different percussion instruments before him like some kind of African master drummer. Primarily, they ran through most of the hits that had made them famous, and while they were well-received, it was perhaps not with the ardency that would come with a regular crowd; the audience now was made up mostly of friends and people who were in the music industry. It was when they did their more obscure songs and covers that people started to stand and show more enthusiasm, making it feel more like a real concert.

Remus tried to make notes but it was difficult. He was too distracted. Once or twice he was certain Sirius's eyes met his, but it was too far to tell properly. Even so, the pages of his notebook stayed blank, and towards the end when Sirius and James collaborated on a particularly spine-tingling, elaborate sort of acoustic version of 'Purple Haze', he closed the book altogether.

Afterwards, when he slipped backstage with Lily, it was 'Purple Haze' that he congratulated Sirius on most profusely. Blue Stag had been given two dressing rooms, and James and his admirers occupied one while the rest of the band were in the other. After a gentle knock, Sirius opened the door and Remus found himself immediately pulled into a tight hug.

"I was worried you weren't here. Why didn't you sit at the front, you fool?"

So their eyes hadn't met then. Oh well.

Stupidly, Remus apologised.

"It sounded so good. It really did," he burbled. "'Purple Haze' was such a brilliant arrangement. Completely your own."

Sirius held his hands out to each side, clutching the fluffy towel he'd been using on his face. He was still in his stage clothes of white t-shirt and ridiculously tight trousers, and was looking sufficiently flushed and tousled.

"Well, what can I say?"

"_You_ arranged it?"

Sirius's hands flopped back down to his sides. "I'm not completely inept," he laughed, chucking the towel at him. "Want a drink or something?"

"We should go to a pub," Fabian piped up. He was sprawled across the couch, feet in Peter's lap, a bottle of ice water pressed to his head and a fag dangling between his fingers. "I've always wanted to go to a country pub."

"Such high aspirations you have," said Sirius, wandering back over to the dressing table and picking up another bottle of water. "Anyway, we're not going to a pub. Remus is taking me to his house after this."

"I am?" he said dumbly. It was news to him, although he didn't have time to decide whether it was unwelcome or not before Sirius was speaking again.

"Course. I'll show you how to play 'Purple Haze'." He held the bottle up to take a sip, but stopped and grinned when he saw Remus staring at him.

"Moody's already got the four of us booked in at that Mercure place, Sirius," Peter reminded him, looking up from the Sounds newspaper he'd dug out of the bin.

Sirius waved a dismissive hand in his direction as he downed his water, and Fabian watched, giving a little smile and shake of his head which Remus forced himself not to begin analysing.

"Alright, but he won't half be pissed off. It's supposed to be amazing," said Peter, turning back to the article.

"Where's your rebellious spirit, Pettigrew?" Sirius asked, but he hadn't taken his eyes off Remus once. Remus forced himself to stare back, the hard grey gaze unreadable.

"I'm just saying. It's fine to go out but it doesn't help to just not come back to base at all. We've got –"

"Oh give over, you little lackey." Sirius finally broke the stare and lobbed the near-empty bottle of water at Peter's head, turning and snatching a jacket off the back of the door. "Come on." He looped an arm around Remus and guided him out of the door, only leaving him with a nanosecond to bid the other two musicians a hasty farewell, to which Fabian replied with a very obvious goodnight.

"Don't you need to speak to Moody first? Or James?" Remus asked as they walked towards the back exit together. "In fact, are you sure you want to come to mine anyway? It's sort of a mess. You saw what it was like last time –"

"Remus," Sirius interrupted, stopping in the corridor and taking his arm from around Remus's shoulder. "Come on. I haven't seen you for days, and I really don't fancy sticking around with that lot tonight. James has been doing my head in all day, and now Pete's being a little crawler too."

He was looking at him calmly, but there was a pleading expression in his eyes that Remus couldn't fail to notice. He felt a bit bad then. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with Sirius because he did. It was just that his house really was in a state.

"Alright," he said. "You can come, just erm – stay out of the kitchen, yeah? I haven't done the washing up or anything and it's a tip."

Sirius grinned. "Is that a way of telling me I'm not allowed to drink?"

Oh God, now he'd gone and made himself sound like a right bossy twat.

"No, no," Remus said quickly, "I didn't mean it like that. Although having said that, I don't think I have any drink in anyway. Well actually there's Cinzano, but it's a bit crap, isn't it? And I think Dorcas left one of those horrendous bottles of Babycham the other week but I doubt you drink stuff like that –"

"Remus," Sirius laughed, "calm the fuck down, would you? Christ, anyone'd think you couldn't stand to be around me."

He pushed the heavy back door open and poked his head out long enough to hear that the crowd was indeed still waiting outside the front entrance, very much ready to converse with and possibly maul their favourite rock stars. Sighing, he rested his head against the door frame.

"I know it's awful but I just don't feel like facing a crowd tonight. Is there any other way we can go?"

"There's Park Road," said Remus. "It goes around the edge of the woods. It's quite a long walk though. There might be some, er, drunken yobs along the way."

"Nothing like a nice romantic walk in the park," Sirius grinned, grabbing Remus's hand and tugging him out into the cool night. "And I think I can handle a few drunken yobs, don't you?"

To be fair, he did look sufficiently daunting in his leather jacket and boots, and Remus could do nothing but nod in agreement. The plus side to the long walk was that it gave Remus a chance to settle back into the swing of things. Given the route they took, all patchy scrubs of grass and cracked concrete, there wasn't much he could point out to Sirius that added anything to his probably already quite low opinion of Gloucester, but Sirius didn't seem too interested in that anyway.

When they made it to Remus's house, Sirius shrugged off his jacket and dropped it in a heap on the hallway floor, before wandering into the living room and flopping down on to the couch. It was a sequence of actions that, had it been anyone else, probably would have annoyed Remus quite a bit.

"Do you want anything?" he asked.

Sirius shook his head no and Remus dropped on to the other end of the sofa, folding his legs underneath him. He let out a long, quiet breath, eyes darting around the room, quickly searching for any offensive items he might have to discretely cover up. Thankfully, bar a couple of empty mugs and a Carly Simon record, there was nothing too bad.

"What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" Sirius asked him.

"Well, I suppose I should get some work done. I haven't written a thing lately, and I barely wrote anything just now."

"You must have been enjoying yourself."

"It was brilliant, honestly. Really brilliant."

Sirius gave him a slow, satisfied smile.

"Here," he said, "I'll write it for you. It'll be easy. Where's your book? Just say 'Sirius Black is irresistibly sexy when armed with an acoustic guitar, and he does a _fantastic_ Hendrix cover'. Go on."

"Charming as that is, Sirius, I'm the kind of journalist who likes to stay as true to the facts as possible."

"Ouch. It's taken, what, all of half an hour for you to get a lip on you?"

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise, it's cute."

Remus looked up at him, scanning his face to see whether or not he was joking. The smile he was faced with seemed genuine, and he felt a strange tug in his stomach as he glanced away, any ounce of confidence he was starting to build up quickly abandoning him.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked again, desperate for something to do. "There's coffee. I don't drink it. I hate it. I know you like it though."

Sirius shook his head. He leaned a little closer, and Remus felt the pull in his abdomen increase tenfold, as though he were harbouring a whole stomachful of butterflies.

"I'll put some music on!" he said abruptly. Forcing himself not to look at his guest, Remus slid off the couch towards the alcoves, grabbing at the first record within his reach which happened to be Morrison Hotel.

"The Doors, eh?" said Sirius, as strains of 'Roadhouse Blues' began to fill the room.

Remus sat back on the couch hurriedly, record sleeve still in his hands.

"You kind of look like Jim Morrison," he breathed. Upon receiving no reply, he held it up for Sirius to see. "Don't you think? Well, in the early days I mean. Before he got all bearded and odd-looking."

Sirius leant his head back against the sofa and looked at him with hot, curious eyes. Remus forced himself to meet the strange gaze. He felt his heart kick up a beat, the sound of the tack piano heavy in his ears, and his tongue darted out to wet suddenly very dry lips. Then he became struck by an odd panic as he wondered if Sirius would take the gesture as a come-on. Hell, maybe it was a come-on. Even Remus couldn't tell.

Sirius was staring at his mouth, and Remus knew full-well what was going to happen before it did, but when Sirius reached across, traced a thumb over his lower lip and pulled him in for a kiss, Remus didn't stop him.

The tenderness surprised him. It was a slow, sweet brushing of lips that helped quell the sickly swirl of nerves in his stomach. It didn't last long. He wasn't sure, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before Sirius was pulling back, Remus's jaw still cupped in his hand.

Sirius quirked an eyebrow in question. Remus could only blink by way of some kind of agreement, some kind of allowance, and then Sirius was kissing him again, firmer this time, the brush of denim against the couch alerting Remus to the fact that their bodies were beginning to press together.

His eyes fluttered for a moment, and he let go of the record sleeve to curve a hand around Sirius's neck. Something told him he should have been protesting but he wasn't really sure _why_. Sirius was a much better kisser when he was sober, when he didn't taste of booze and tobacco, when he was parting Remus's lips with his own, slow and easy, tracing patterns along Remus's jawline with the warm pads of his thumbs.

He was dimly aware of the devilish melody of 'Roadhouse Blues' in the background, but the song seemed to almost fade as he became swamped by the wave of sensations Sirius's touch always seemed to evoke.

They didn't come apart until the short song ended and 'Waiting for the Sun' came on, and Sirius pulled back, panting slightly, to murmur "I love this song" and to press another chaste kiss to Remus's lips. He ducked his head then, seeking Remus's gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

There was nothing _wrong_ as such, but Remus was experiencing that awful emotion of thinking he'd made a bad decision and not really being able to explain why. He liked kissing Sirius, but liking it was terribly confusing.

"Nothing." He began to shift away but Sirius was quick, grabbing him and hauling him back with a breathless laugh.

"No," he said, in the tone a parent might use on a little kid trying to wander off. "Don't bugger off now. Do you know how long I've been wanting to kiss you?"

"Not very long probably."

"Oh shut up."

Sirius brushed another kiss over his lips, and Remus let him. Not that his mind wasn't swimming with doubt. Because Sirius couldn't have been wanting to kiss him for so long if he took that boy, that gap year student, back to his house when Remus had been there.

"Sirius," he mumbled against his lips, "wait."

Sirius huffed impatiently. "What _for_?"

"Maybe we shouldn't..."

When Sirius immediately shot back with "why?", Remus couldn't give an answer. Sirius cocked his head to the side, unimpressed, and then stunned Remus further by suddenly climbing on top of him, straddling him in one swift movement. He placed his hands on either side of Remus's head against the back of the sofa, and the image of Jake being trapped in a similar fashion at the Palace flashed into his mind.

"Look," he said, "I like you. And I know you like me."

"How do you know that?"

"You kissed back." Sirius leaned forward to nudge their noses together, Eskimo fashion. "And you said I was alright."

Remus managed a feeble laugh. "You remember stupid things."

"I remember everything you tell me."

For a short moment, Remus allowed himself to feel touched. Then he saw the hopeful look in Sirius's eyes, and wondered if it was a line he used on everyone he fancied a bit of. His gaze dropped to Sirius's lips, his full, pink lips, and his stomach curled as he forced himself not to care. 'Waiting for the Sun' abruptly ended and Remus began to speak.

"It's just... it's not that you're not a lovely kisser, but I've never really done stuff with a bloke. Not much anyway."

Sirius shrugged. His right hand slid lower now, his thumb beginning to draw circular patterns on Remus's stomach, making him feel giddy.

"First time for everything," he said. "You do _worry_, don't you, Remus? It's lovely, don't get me wrong, but don't you ever just do what you want without thinking about what might happen later?"

"No," Remus admitted.

"You should be more spontaneous. Stop caring so much, just do what feels right. You should always live like that."

"That's horribly impractical," he said weakly, but even as he spoke he could feel himself relaxing against Sirius's hands, the back of his head, the tips of his fingers, the bottom of his spine all tingling with anticipation.

Sirius laughed gently and moved so their foreheads were touching. His hands were hot against Remus's neck, soft black hair tickling his face. Then he was pressing against him, warm mouth settling on Remus's once more and it wouldn't have been fair to say it didn't feel wonderful, and so Remus let it happen.

It was fine for a while. Sirius kissed deeply, slow and languid, and it wasn't much work to keep up with him. The stubble was a new sensation, but not an unpleasant one, and Remus was just starting to properly relax when Sirius ran a warm, teasing tongue across his lips, gently easing it into his mouth.

Remus had long since felt himself beginning to get hard, cock straining uncomfortably against the unyielding denim of his jeans. As Sirius's tongue began to explore his mouth hotly, Remus tensed up, unsure what to do in return, with himself, with his hands. They sat uselessly like dead things, cautious on the seat of the chair, in stark contrast to Sirius's hands which touched him everywhere - his face, neck, trailing a path down his chest, around his waist, finally to his crotch which was given a gentle squeeze, each deft movement brimming with expert flair.

Without warning, Sirius broke the kiss.

"What is it?" he asked.

Remus blinked down at him, desperately wondering what he'd done wrong. "Nothing."

"You're tense, I can feel you." He gripped Remus's waist a little tighter, making him jump. "See?"

"I'm just..."

"Do you want to stop?"

Wordlessly, Remus shook his head. Sirius considered him with the tiniest of smiles threatening to blossom.

"Do you always feel nervous around people," he asked teasingly, "or just me?"

Remus swallowed, drawn by the sight of Sirius's wet, red lips. "Just you."

Sirius leaned to press a soft kiss to Remus's throat, his chin, nose, cheek, the patch on his neck just beneath his right ear which gave his stomach an especially sharp tug.

"You just need to relax," he whispered.

So focused was Remus on the ghosting of hot breath across his neck, and the intoxicating scent of dried sweat and creamy aftershave and smoke from the stage, he barely noticed the hand trailing down his chest, further and further, until long fingers were dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans.

His body throbbed with awareness as his zipper was pulled down, absurdly loud as it cut through the low hum of 'You Make Me Real', a shockingly inappropriate song given the moment and the languid, measured pace of their actions, the only other noise the huff of his breath mixing with Sirius's.

Then a hand, heavy and determined, pressed against him through the thin cotton. Remus grabbed Sirius's fingers.

"Wait," he breathed, but it was a stupid interruption because he was so _obviously_ hard beneath the assault of Sirius's hand and it was manners, rather than a lack of desire, that made him interfere. "You don't have to –"

Sirius batted him away impatiently. "I want to," he growled, and then he pressed his mouth against Remus's throat, nipping and licking at the tender skin as he slid warm fingers beneath his boxers, taking Remus's cock firmly in his hand.

It didn't last long; Sirius gathered the precome already gathered at the tip, slicked it down the length, wanked him firm and even, kissing him all the while, rolling Remus's balls between the fingers of his other hand. Remus let his eyes sink closed for a few seconds, until Sirius squeezed his cock deliberately and said, low and gravelly, "Look at me, Remus."

Their gazes locked. Sirius's hand began to speed up, faster and faster until Remus was tense and panting beneath him, arching his hips unashamedly, nerves forgotten in the face of bliss. Time passed in quick, frenzied minutes, and they kissed, hot and wet, until Sirius was pulling back, moving to brush his lips over the shell of Remus's ear, hot breath tickling him.

"Are you relaxing yet?" he whispered, and then he kissed him again, and Remus moaned and twisted and bit down. Hard.

"Fuck!" Sirius wrenched back, bringing the heel of his free hand up against his mouth, already spotted with blood.

"Fucking _hell_." He'd barely finished coming before he was grabbing on to Sirius and burying his face in his shoulder, an dreadful mixture of pleasure and embarrassment coursing through his body. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to."

Remus stilled against him, unable to bring himself to drag his head up. He'd bitten Sirius. He'd made him bleed. He'd _whimpered_. _Repeatedly_. As in, _more than once_. He couldn't even orgasm like a normal person, couldn't even get a handjob without inflicting grievous bodily harm. He concluded, with a small groan, that from now on he would live in a box under the stairs.

But then two fingers gently lifted him by the chin, and Sirius was looking at him with an expression caught between amusement and surprise.

"Quite the bite you've got on you," he said, taking his hand away and sucking on his sore bottom lip.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Do you want ice on it?"

"I think I'll manage." Sirius caught Remus's flailing hand and squeezed gently. Then he seemed to notice Remus's pained expression and his face fell. "Didn't you like it?"

"Yes, of course! But I bloody _bit_ you."

"Oh Remus, get over it."

He wasn't just embarrassed that he'd tried to gnaw Sirius's lip off though. It was also the idea of someone seeing him come undone like that, all worked up and whimpering like a big pile of wet leaves. Hastily he pulled his boxers the rest of the way up, fastening his jeans as Sirius leaned back, still straddling him, and glanced around.

"Got any tissues or anything?"

Remus looked around too and quickly snatched a tea towel from the side table, making a mental note to throw it away later.

"Erm," he started, watching Sirius rub his hands with the gingham cloth. "Do you want..?"

He gestured awkwardly and Sirius looked at him, then down at his jeans, then back up. He gave a little smirk and tossed the towel aside as he leaned to brush Remus's lips with his sore ones once more.

"Nah. Not right now."

On the one hand, Remus was fairly relieved; he wasn't sure he'd be able to do as good a job on Sirius as Sirius had done on him. On the other, he was worried Sirius just didn't want him touching him like that. He was probably mad about the bite. He probably knew Remus would be utter bollocks at it.

"But maybe tomorrow," Sirius continued with another kiss. "If you're letting me stay, that is."

"Of course." Remus jumped at the chance to redeem himself. "There's a spare room, although it has damp. Or you can have my bed. It's more comfortable but my room's kind of a mess..."

Sirius had already moved off him, standing up and stretching, announcing cheerfully that he was going for a fag and heading towards the kitchen to get to the back door. Remus almost blurted out a reminder that his kitchen was in a state.

_No, Remus Lupin. No. You're going to stop this sort of thing right now. Be normal for once in your life, for fuck's sake, be normal!_

He leaned back against the sofa and waited anxiously for Sirius to return, convinced that when he did he'd confess he wanted to leave now because the kitchen was revolting or because his lip hurt or because Remus was the worst host ever.

Drumming his fingers against his legs, the record still playing in the background, he mulled the little episode over in his mind, unsure how he felt about it now it was over. He'd definitely enjoyed it - certain parts anyway - but the whole thing seemed now to have passed very quickly. Everything between them before seemed to have moved at a positively glacial pace, but now all he could think was that it was done, over in a flash. They'd done things together now, and there was no longer the option of backing out.

When Sirius returned a few minutes later, Remus budged up on the couch for him. Sirius quietly kicked off his boots, then lay down, stretched out like a cat, feet in Remus's lap. HIs grey eyes studied him carefully and silently in a way that made Remus unsure if what he was about to hear would be good or bad.

But as it happened, Sirius said nothing. He sniffed, rubbed at his eyes, and rested his hands on his stomach. The two of them listened to the remainder of the album in comfortable silence, and by the time 'Indian Summer' had ended, Sirius had fallen asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warnings:** None

* * *

><p>Remus woke at dawn, cold and stiff. His bare arms were prickled with goose bumps, legs folded awkwardly, neck stiff. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, propping himself up and scrabbling around on the back of the headrest for the blue crochet blanket he knew was there.<p>

Sirius lay at the other end, snoring softly. One frayed edge of the blanket was trapped beneath his back, and when Remus tugged it a little harder than he'd intended the other man gave a sleepy protest, stilled for a moment, then opened his eyes.

He yawned and looked about to return to sleep when he noticed Remus draping the cover over the both of them.

"Thanks," came the sleepy mumble. Dragging one end of the soft wool right up to his chest, he promptly fell back to sleep.

Remus watched him for a while, rubbing the soft material back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. He had trouble sleeping anywhere that wasn't his own bed, and it would be especially difficult now with the weak early morning light filtering in through the thin curtains. He wanted to go up to his room and get another couple of hours in, but he thought Sirius might be offended upon waking up. And besides, Remus sort of liked watching him sleep.

It wasn't in a weird way. It was just interesting to see the angular face and sharp features relaxed and softened. The perfect posture and confident limbs were lost in sleep, so that now Sirius sprawled awkwardly, practically falling off the couch, making Remus grin.

After a while he got up to go to the kitchen to make tea and tidy up a bit. Attached to the fridge was Alice's number, reminding him of the review, so that after a moment's contemplation he picked up one of several notebooks lying around the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast table with his mug and a pen, tapping the cardboard front gently, one eye on Sirius's sleeping form.

Eventually he flipped it open and scrawled the first thing that came into his head: _When it comes to acoustic music, Sirius Black has incredibly talented fingers_.

His eyes widened a little when he realised what he'd written. Hastily, he crossed it out, replacing it with a more subtle _Sirius Black is a man of many gifts_.

But then he remembered this was supposed to be a review of Blue Stag, not just their bassist, and he sighed, clicking the pen rapidly as he was wont to do when he was stuck for ideas. After a contemplative sip of tea, he replaced the mug on a coaster and leaned forward to carefully print: _There are two sides to every story_.

After that it was easy. He managed to scribble out a good three sides, most of it too detailed, some too sparse, but with plenty of good ideas to keep him busy later. Before he knew it, it was just past six o'clock and the framework of his concert review was finished. He rarely worked with such haste and, pleased with himself, he clicked the pen and stood up, rewarding himself with the comfort of the couch. It was a nice relief after the feel of the bony, hand-me-down breakfast chairs beneath his arse.

Proof of how hard he'd worked, he actually managed to fall asleep again – if only for a little while – and when he awoke he found his head resting on legs, the blanket completely gone. Turning, he found Sirius all tucked up in the wool, a thoughtful expression on his face as he perused one of Remus's magazines.

_Soundscape_, to be exact.

"Cheers for sharing the covers," Remus said blearily, though he found he wasn't really cold anymore.

"Since 1981, North London band Blue Stag have been making headlines for everything from sell-out concerts," Sirius began reading cheerfully, and when Remus noticed the haughty, pompous tone with which he was reciting the words he made a clumsy grab for the magazine. Sirius lifted it swiftly away from his grasp.

"To public controversies," he carried on, easily avoiding another grab, "to musical collaborations with some of the biggest names in rock."

"Shut up," Remus begged. "Don't read it like that, it sounds awful."

"Of course we have fall-outs," Sirius continued in a totally spot-on impersonation of James, as Remus groaned and buried his head in a cushion, "but people forget we've known each other for thirteen years. Thirteen years! Imagine!" Sirius shook his head in mock awe, before poking his face out from behind the magazine and adding, "It's really good by the way."

"Can I have it back now?"

"I especially like this bit about me," said Sirius, pointing to a line on the page. "'Sirius Black completes the dynamic quartet with bass playing skills akin to that of Jesus himself'."

"Oh shut up."

"He's also incredibly good looking –"

"It doesn't say that!"

"Superbly manly –"

Remus huffed.

"And I fancy him like mad!" Sirius slapped the magazine down and lunged forward. "God, Remus, tell the whole world, why don't you?"

"You're so incredibly funny," Remus deadpanned, managing to finally pull the magazine from Sirius's grasp now that he was distracted. "I can barely contain my laughter. See? Look at the difficulty I'm having." He pointed to his blank face and Sirius threw his head back and laughed.

"I was reading that," he said, reaching out for it again, but Remus dropped it on the floor beside him before he could get it, safe in the knowledge that the other man probably couldn't be bothered getting up to retrieve it.

"I'm sure you've re-read it plenty of times. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd highlighted and annotated all the bits about you."

"Believe me, I would have, only I didn't have a pen to hand," Sirius admitted. Then he pushed Remus's shoulder and grabbed the cushion away from him. "Someone's perked up since last night."

"I finished the draft for the review," Remus told him. "I'm feeling accomplished."

"Is it as flattering as the other one?" Sirius asked. "Can I see it?"

"Not if you're going to take the piss out of that one too."

"Come on. I'll strike you a deal." He put his hands on Remus's shoulders. "You let me read it and I'll give you a kiss."

Remus's eyes went straight to Sirius's bottom lip. It was still a bit red from last night, and he almost grimaced as he remembered how stupid he'd been, accidentally biting him. Sirius, apparently mistaking the expression for distaste, cocked his head to the side.

"Or are we not into kissing Sirius anymore?"

Without thinking about it, Remus closed the gap between them with a brief kiss, pulling away quickly since he hadn't brushed his teeth yet.

"Oh good," said Sirius, running a hand through his tousled hair, "I was beginning to worry." Apparently satisfied, he leaned back against the armrest again with a yawn, stretching his arms out and settling back in with the blanket. "So. Do I get breakfast in this establishment?"

"Sure," Remus replied.

"Great!"

"You know where the kitchen is."

Sirius shot him an unamused look, removing himself from the woolly confines and standing up. "What sort of service do you call this?" he joked. "I knew I should have stayed at the hotel with the lads. That Mercure..." He gestured with his hands, searching for the word. "What's it called again?"

"Mercure Queens?"

"That's the one. Any idea where it is? I suppose I'll have to go there at some point." He almost lost his balance as he stretched tiredly, joints cracking.

"It's in Cheltenham," said Remus, watching him, "about twenty minutes away."

"I'll get a cab." He looked up and offered Remus a dazzling smile then, far too cheerful considering the time of the morning. "So you were joking about me making my own breakfast, right?"

Rolling his eyes, Remus dragged himself up off the couch and led the way back into the kitchen. They proceeded to act out some warped, married-couple routine, with Remus making Sirius's coffee and Sirius haphazardly spreading various condiments on to toast. It was a bit odd considering all they'd done the previous night was kiss and then engage in a one-way toss-off.

Still, Remus was surprised at how much he enjoyed the cosy homeliness of the whole affair, of having someone to share his kitchen with, of having someone to eat breakfast with. Most mornings he spent staring out at the rain-sodden garden with a lonely cup of tea clutched in his hands, worrying about as many things as he could.

"If I knew I was this good at making breakfast," Sirius said once they'd sat down, "I'd do it more often."

"You never make your own breakfast? Poor George."

"I pay him to look after me, and he loves it. You should come and stay again some time." He bit off another piece of considerably jammy toast and added through his mouthful, "Well. Unless that'd freak you out."

Remus paused, cup halfway to his lips. "What do you mean?"

Sirius didn't answer for a while. He chewed, swallowed and drank before eventually saying, "Well I don't know, you're just easily freaked aren't you? Like last night. _Oh, Sirius, don't toss me off, I might actually have an orgasm_!" He accompanied this with hand gestures and a ridiculously good West Country accent. Remus promptly shoved him, turning red. He didn't want to be reminded of last night.

"_Sirius_."

"What?"

"Don't say 'orgasm', we're having breakfast, for God's sake."

"Sorry," Sirius laughed, raising his cup to drink, but when Remus looked at him he lowered it again and obediently stopped smiling. "Sorry."

"And I don't sound like that."

Sirius said nothing as he ducked his head, eyebrows raised, a little smirk on his lips.

"And anyway," Remus continued, pulling his toast apart, "it's not my fault. I told you, I've never really done much with a bloke before. Or... anyone. In a while, anyway."

"Really?" said Sirius. "Go on. When was the last time you were with someone?"

Remus shrugged and looked down at his plate, suddenly not very hungry anymore. "A year?" he mumbled. "Maybe two?"

"_Two years_?"

"Alright, don't rub it in!" He immediately started to feel stupid again. "I don't tend to have many relationships. When you live somewhere like this it's a bit awkward when you've broken up with someone, so I just tend to avoid it."

"Why would you go into a relationship with someone assuming you're going to break up with them?"

Remus gave a little laugh before standing and taking his plate over to the draining board. "It's more I assume they'll break up with me. Want another drink?" He crossed over to the kettle and stuck it under the tap, but Sirius didn't reply. When he turned, he found Sirius was looking at him.

"You really don't think anyone could like you, do you? You have the lowest self-esteem."

"I don't have low self-esteem," Remus replied, sticking the kettle back on the stove. "I just don't have high expectations."

"You don't seem to have any expectations."

"Sirius." He turned back around and rested against the countertop. "I'm not from London."

"So?"

"So it makes a difference. Everything here is very, you know, uncorrupted. It's like..." He ambled back over, resting his hands on the back of a chair. "London is Woodstock and Gloucester is the village fête."

Sirius's wide-eyed look of expectancy creased up into laughter.

"You make me laugh," he said, dropping the last few crusts of his toast down on to his plate. "One minute you're nattering away like a nervous little mouse because you're terrified a bloke's trying to get off with you, next you're all gobby and telling me we're the Prince and the Pauper. With musical analogies, no less."

"Yes well," Remus said awkwardly, sitting back down and placing one arm on top of the other, "I'm just explaining why I got a little nervous when we... you know. But it's not that I didn't like it, or you. I'm just not used to it."

Sirius leaned across the table then, pushing his plate aside. "We'll have to get you used to it," he grinned, and they were close enough to kiss but Sirius's expression changed, smile faltering a bit when he saw the way Remus was looking at him. "It could be fun," he added gently, the rising intonation at the end suggesting he wanted Remus to agree with him.

Remus didn't say anything for a long time. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, and none of them were exactly tactful, but he felt like he needed the answers if he was to allow any... _thing_ he might have with Sirius to go any further.

Eventually, he decided on, "Why did you sleep with Jake?"

Sirius's lips were already parted in a little 'o' shape, so that his mouth barely moved as he asked, "Who's Jake?"

He looked genuinely confused, and Remus sighed. Somehow he'd had a feeling he might say that.

"Jake? The one you slept with less than a week ago, that Jake?"

"Oh." Sirius's eyes were still slightly glassy. Then: "Oh! Jake. The American, right?"

"Yes, the –"

"Oh I didn't sleep with him."

"You didn't –?"

"He just went down on me."

"Sirius!" Remus gestured to the table wildly. "Breakfast!"

"What? You asked!"

"I didn't need details."

"I thought that would make it better."

"It's the principle, not the fact that you two did... whatever," Remus mumbled, looking off to the side. "You say you like me, but then... you brought him back while I was there."

"It was Friday night," Sirius pointed out. "I still wasn't sure at that point if I could snog you without getting stabbed in the eye with a pen."

"So you thought the best way to ensure that I'd return your – _advances_ – would be to bring him back? He had acne!"

Sirius raised his forefinger. "Be that as it may... I was pissed."

Remus didn't reply but he couldn't stop the way his eyes rolled just a little. Because really, when _wasn't_ Sirius Black pissed?

"Out of my head," Sirius added, curling his finger back into his fist.

When Remus still didn't reply – not because, like Sirius, he was stubborn, but because he simply had no words and rather wished he hadn't brought the topic up after all – Sirius sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry. Is that what you want me to say? That I'm sorry? I mean, we're here now, aren't we? So does it really matter?"

Did it really matter? Remus didn't want to be mad at him, and compared to most rock stars Sirius was pretty well-behaved. If he broke the whole situation down, the facts were that Sirius was single and Sirius was young. So it was, of course, perfectly acceptable for him to sleep with whomever he chose. But Remus still couldn't shake the feelings of hurt, and it was made worse by the fact that he couldn't really justify those feelings in the first place.

Who was he to tell Sirius how to live his life anyway? They'd only known each other a few months. If this was how Sirius did things, this was how he did things. It was better just to go along with it, Remus reasoned. Only an idiot would resist Sirius Black's interests because, what, the man had landed himself a drunken blowjob one Friday night?

By this point, Sirius seemed to have lost hope in Remus ever replying. He was rummaging around in his pockets for a lighter, already starting to say, "Do you mind if I –?" when Remus interrupted him.

"You're right. It doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?" said Sirius. "Because if it really bothers you... I mean, if you're worried that we'd be in a relationship and I'd cheat on you, I'm not like that. I mean, I don't do things like that."

Remus barely heard the last sentence, because his neck had already snapped up and his eyes had widened a little.

"A relationship?" he echoed dumbly.

And then he was confronted with one of those rare situations where it was Sirius looking flustered and not him.

"Er." He drummed his long guitarist's fingers against the table. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Of course," Remus repeated, a tinge of bewilderment colouring his words.

"Yeah. So. Do you mind if I..?" Sirius gestured to the door with his head, and Remus waved his hands in approval.

"Go ahead."

Sirius's ruffled demeanour suggested he hadn't really meant to say "relationship" at all, but now he had Remus couldn't help but wonder what that might be like. There was no doubt in his mind that he liked spending time with Sirius. And that he liked touching Sirius. And by default, he was therefore _attracted_ to Sirius. But a relationship with him wasn't something that had ever crossed his mind, not even once. Mainly because Remus was still coming to terms with the fact that he fancied him, but also because Sirius Black didn't seem the settling type.

It stupid to think about it though. It was, as the man himself had said, purely hypothetical; a way of putting Remus's mind at ease that Sirius wasn't a complete twat.

When he'd returned from the garden and they'd cleaned up – or rather, they'd put their plates on the draining board – they went back into the living room and flopped down on to the couch.

"Your sofa is so comfortable," said Sirius, stretching out luxuriously. "Where did you get it?"

"Er. It was my nan's," Remus admitted.

"Oh, recycling. I like it." Sirius nodded towards the television, hands behind his head. "Put the telly on."

It was fine for a while. They watched ITV News and an episode of _Tales of the Unexpected_ about a woman murdering her husband with a frozen leg of lamb. It was halfway through the second episode – this one about a ghoulish hotel, entirely inappropriate for a Thursday morning Remus felt – that he noticed with a jolt Sirius's feet on his thighs, pressing gently.

He didn't mind. Sirius's feet weighed next to nothing, and anyway, at this point they'd done much more than put their feet on one another. But it was when one foot slipped slyly between his legs that Remus shifted a bit and looked across at him. The grey eyes were glued to the television, the tip of his little finger resting idly between his teeth and his other hand stroking the blanket covering him.

Remus didn't say anything. He went back to watching the programme, not quite as relaxed as before. _Maybe_, he reasoned, _he's just trying to get comfortable_.

But then after another couple of minutes, Sirius's left foot joined his right, and he twisted it _just so_. Remus jumped. Really? They were going to do this now? After their awkward conversation just then? This early on a weekday morning? During a children's television show?

The foot twisted again.

Apparently so.

"Sirius," he managed.

"Mm?"

"Your foot –"

"Is very comfortable, thanks." Finally Sirius looked away from the television and at Remus, smirking and wriggling his feet a little more. "What is it? Am I annoying you? Would you prefer I stopped trying to seduce you again?"

"I'd just prefer if you did it in a more conventional fashion," Remus ground out, attempting to dislodge one foot that was being particularly persistent.

"What, like this?" Sirius sat suddenly and grabbed hold of him, yanking him down until their noses were touching and less than an inch of space separated their lips. Remus blinked. "Yes? No?"

"You're unbelievable." Unbelievable, temperamental, restless.

Sirius grinned and covered his lips in a warm kiss instead of replying, hands going straight to his hips. Remus wasn't entirely sure if he was comfortable with the way Sirius's mood could change at the drop of a hat, but then, if it didn't, he imagined they'd never get anywhere and nothing would ever get done. After all, it wasn't like Remus to put his feet on someone's crotch and grab them and kiss them. Especially not while watching a children's show.

In the short moments that followed, Sirius suddenly grunted into the kiss, breaking it to rummage around beneath himself, as though something there were bothering him. Seeing this, Remus took the opportunity to express some concerns.

"Sirius," he said carefully, "when I was at your house, do you remember when I said we should just be friends?"

"Mm."

"Well, obviously we've surpassed that. And it's fine and everything, don't get me wrong, but... don't you think we're moving a bit fast?"

Sirius found what he was looking for – the remote – and dropped it on to the carpeted floor with a soft thud, locking eyes with Remus once more.

"No," he said firmly, "I really don't think we are."

"Oh."

"In fact," he continued, reaching up to take hold of Remus by the jaw and pull him down again, "I have honestly never waited this long to get with someone."

"I – okay. Well, as long as you're sure," he stammered out, unsure whether or not that was supposed to be a compliment.

"Oh, I am."

"Just wanted to make sure, you know."

Sirius laughed, pulling him a little closer. "And I thank you for that concern." He grinned. "Such a gentleman."

Suddenly, his bruised lips were on Remus's again, hard and insistent. Long fingers ran through the scruffy roughness of his hair, legs bent so that Remus could lay comfortably between them.

"You're so gorgeous," Sirius sighed into his mouth, tracing the edges of Remus's face with his thumbs. Remus wasn't sure if it was those words or the slow way in which Sirius arched against him that sent heat spreading through his limbs, nestling snugly in the pit of his stomach. At any rate, he would have had to have been pretty gormless not to notice the growing evidence of Sirius's hardness between them.

He shivered as Sirius moved from his lips to kiss a path down his throat, back up the arch of his neck to graze his teeth over Remus's earlobe. "Remember last night?" he breathed, hands pulling him closer, "When I said 'maybe tomorrow'?"

Remus nodded that he did, bottom lip caught between his front teeth as Sirius looked up at him with darkening eyes.

"Well, could you..?" Sirius swallowed, the raising of his eyebrows completing the question for him. Remus considered the range of emotions flitting across his face, unsure if it was lust or simply confidence, arrogance, which played prominent. Either way, his heart pounded as he considered the best way to approach the act.

"Like this?" Sirius urged, grabbing Remus's hesitant hand and pulling it towards the front of his jeans. He rolled his hips slightly to show just how hard he was, a fact which sent both fear and exhilaration flaring up in Remus's stomach in equal measures. He proceeded to fumble with the button, a small noise of frustration escaping his throat when he realised there was another, smaller button, behind it.

"It doesn't matter," Sirius breathed. "Just –"

His hand was soon joining Remus's, batting it out of the way to undo the button from his more suitable angle. He literally breathed a sigh of relief when it was finally undone, leaving Remus to pull the zipper down and press his hand down beneath the black cotton of his underwear –

And then the doorbell rang, and their eyes locked.

After what seemed like forever Sirius said, low and husky, "You are joking me."

Remus froze. Ridiculously, his immediate thought was that he was to blame for the unwanted visitor at the door. An apology was already forming on his lips before he stopped himself.

"Er," he went for instead, "I should probably get that. It might be important."

"It might be the fucking postman!"

"Why would the postman ring the doorbell, Sirius?"

"Remus?" came a shrill call from outside.

A mixture of panic and frustration shot through him. With a groan, he allowed his face to drop against Sirius's shoulder. "Oh God, it's my mum," he said, voice muffled.

"Your mother? Jesus Christ."

"Remus?" came the call again, sharper this time, followed by another press of the malfunctioning doorbell.

Remus began to climb off him awkwardly, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm coming!" he called back.

"I'm not," Sirius muttered, tugging at his loosened pants and struggling with the buttons once more.

"Just – sort your hair, it's all…" Remus patted at the black locks a little before Sirius batted his hands away with a tut. Leaving the musician to sort himself out, he bounded towards the front door.

"Mum," he greeted her, mustering all the enthusiasm he could manage.

"Oh, there you are." She marched straight past him into the house so that he could only hope Sirius had managed to get his buttons done up in time. "I was beginning to think you were ignoring me. I was on my way to – oh. Hello. Who's this?"

Sirius had indeed managed to compose himself, a casual arm slung over the armrest and his hair looking considerably less ruffled. Like a true gent, he stood to greet her.

"Hello, I'm Sirius," he said pleasantly, as though he hadn't just been in a rather compromising position with her son. He took her hand and kissed her lightly on the cheek, and in turn she let out that surprised, tinny little laugh she was so fond of. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Lupin."

He treated her to a charming smile, casting a sly glance at Remus who quirked an eyebrow in return, shaking his head a little in amusement. Flustered and practically begging one second, charming and accommodating the next. His "rigid household" had taught him well.

"Well, I say. Aren't you a well-mannered little thing?" Then she must have realised how common she sounded, because she quickly corrected herself. "I mean, young man. Well-mannered young man. Are you a friend of my Remus?"

"He's in the band, Mum, I told you before," said Remus, shutting the front door behind them and leading her into the sitting area. "Ignore her, she's being deliberately obtuse. She does know who you are."

"I do now you've explained!" his mother trilled. "But I've a lot of people to keep track of!"

She turned back to Sirius, shrugging off her coat and handing it to Remus. She kept hold of her handbag.

"You're here rather early, aren't you, darling?" she said.

The two men's eyes met, and Remus decided to be the one to explain. Sucking in his breath he said, "Sirius stayed the night, Mum. After his gig at the Guildhall."

She blinked.

"Oh. Where did he sleep? I hope you gave him your room, and not that awful spare room with the damp."

"On the couch actually," Sirius explained, pointing to the blanket, then seeing she was about to protest he continued, "Oh it was very comfortable. Something of an heirloom, I've heard."

"Yes, it was my mother's." She made to sit down on it herself, until Remus hurriedly stepped in. The idea of his mother sitting where they'd – well. It was unthinkable.

"No, Mum, sit here," he said quickly, steering her towards the armchair. "Sirius was sat there."

She tutted but did as she was told. Then she made another disapproving noise when she found the discarded tea towel on the floor.

"Honestly, Remus, do you ever clean up after yourself? You have guests, for goodness' sake!" she said, bending to pick it up. Remus's eyes widened. He snatched it up before she could, pulling it to his chest.

"Er, do you want tea, Mum? Sirius, do you? Come and help me, will you?"

He all but dragged the Sirius (who was, by this point, struggling to hide his laughter) into the kitchen. Remus promptly whacked him with the stiff tea towel before chucking it in the bin.

"It's not funny."

"The towel bit was, you have to admit," Sirius sniggered, and Remus did try to be annoyed but he was too glad that Sirius wasn't angry anymore. At least, he didn't seem to be.

"I didn't know she was coming," he said in a low, hushed voice. "Honestly."

"It's fine," said Sirius, and when Remus gave him an unconvinced look went on, "Really. It's fine. You'll have to make it up to me another time."

He suddenly turned them so that Remus's back bumped against the worktop. From where they were standing they couldn't be seen from the living room armchair, but Sirius obscured Remus for good measure and then placed his hands on his hips.

"Come to mine," he said. "Tomorrow. I'm going to be at an interview in the afternoon, but I'll have George pick you up."

"I –"

"Bring your work if you want. We don't have to go anywhere."

Remus said nothing as he looked up at him, considering. "Well your place is a lot nicer than mine," he murmured eventually. Sirius smiled down at him, leaning to place a slow, daring kiss on his lips. Remus's nerves wouldn't allow him to close his eyes for it, but he couldn't stop a small mewl of surprise escaping his lips when Sirius's hand moved to travel slowly along the curve of his arse -

"Remus?" His mother's shrill voice suddenly cut through the thick, peaceful atmosphere. "Are you making tea or not? I can't hear the kettle. And what on earth are you two watching on television?"

Remus shook his head, pained, and closed his eyes. He wouldn't open them until Sirius said, "You know, in the five minutes she's been here your accent's thickened like mad." He smiled and winked, giving his hips one last squeeze before pulling away. "I'll call a cab."

Reluctantly, Remus set to making tea while Sirius used the phone. He seethed over his mother's unwanted presence, viciously crushing the teabag into the side of the cup. Alright, so maybe he would have been a bit crap at tossing Sirius off, but he _wanted_ to do it, to return the favour, not to mention make up for nearly biting his lip off. This morning and last night had opened up completely new experiences which were, in fact, completely daunting, but he found he did want to be closer with Sirius. As usual though his mother had arrived, unannounced and uninvited.

It was like when he was a teenager and she'd barge into his room when he was in the middle of something important or, more often than not, something just entirely embarrassing. Only now it actually mattered in the long run, because what if Sirius went back to that magnificent hotel in Cheltenham and decided he would find some other way of getting off? Some other way that didn't involve fumbling, bumbling country boys?

The taxi arrived at his house in under five minutes, and when Sirius had said goodbye to the Lady herself in a manner equally as gracious as his introduction had been, Remus walked him to the door. Out on the chilly front step, the musician gave him a quick kiss on the cheek – reminding Remus of the first time he'd done it all those months ago outside the Manchester arena – and a soft half-smile. Then he was gone, leaving Remus alone in what seemed like a suddenly very grey house once more.

He went back inside and glanced at the couch. He couldn't believe that not half an hour ago they'd been there, together, Sirius underneath him, kissing him, actually wanting Remus to touch him. Now all that was left was his mother. She'd pulled her handbag on to her lap.

"He's _very_ handsome, isn't he?" she said, before waving a dismissive hand in Remus's direction. "Never mind. I forgot men don't understand things like that."

Remus almost laughed. Probably would have done were it not for seeing his mother begin to pull various sheets of paper from her handbag.

"What's that then?"

"I've brought you these," she said, holding the bundle of papers out for him to take. He set his mug down on the coffee table and took them, sitting back on the sofa and giving them a quick glance. What a surprise.

"Job application forms," he stated blankly.

"Lots of them," she said, splaying out immaculately manicured fingers as though to emphasise just how many there were. "They're all at the Job Centre if you bothered to look. I've got you the animal shelter one, but also one at the train station, Waitrose –"

"Waitrose."

"Think of the discounts, Remus!"

"I don't want them." He tried to hand them back to her, but she wouldn't take them.

"Just keep them, you might as well." She picked up her teacup and clutched her bag with her other hand to show that there was no way she was taking them back.

"No. No. I don't want them."

"Just keep them, Remus, for God's sake. There's no need to be so prickly." She took a calm sip of her tea. "I also came to tell you that Dad and I are going for dinner at Auntie Tilley's tomorrow night and of course you're coming."

"I'm going to London," he said distractedly, rifling back through the papers just to see what exactly she envisioned him doing with his life. There was one here for a job at the biscuit factory. The biscuit factory.

"London?" she echoed.

"Yes," he said irritably, "is that a problem?"

"Yes! Tilley and Michael have just bought a new house in Tewkesbury, you can't not come."

"Yes I can, Mother," he snapped, "because I'm twenty-three years old and I can choose whether or not to go to Auntie Tilley's and I can choose what I want to do for the rest of my life, and I don't want to do any of this."

He chucked the papers on to the coffee table to make his point, some of them falling on to the floor at his mother's feet. He knew as soon as he'd done it that it was very out of character for him, but he folded his arms, determined not to cave in. He supposed he was pretty irritated at her for interrupting his time with Sirius, even though she couldn't have known. But the job hunt she had been embarking on on his behalf for the past year was getting on his last nerve too.

"Well," she said primly, "isn't that nice? I try to help. I try to show a little concern. All I get is –"

"Please, will you stop trying to pretend you're doing any of this for my benefit?" he interrupted, stressing each word. "You just want something to brag about!"

"What on earth are you talking about? And when, Remus John Lupin, did you become so bloody lippy? With your own mother, no less!" Funnily enough, her accent had slipped now, and she was back to plain old country girl once again. "Is it from hanging around with your London friends? Your friend Sirius is very charming, isn't he? I suppose you want to be more like him, do you? Is he the reason you won't consider taking any other job?" She picked up a handful of the nearby papers. "That band has made you feel like you're too good for these?"

"I like what I do!" he exclaimed. "Why can't you understand that?"

"Darling," she said shortly, "I know you're very good at writing. But I humoured those kinds of dreams of yours when you were a _child_. It's time to grow up."

"I _am_ grown up. I've got a mortgage, I've got a job, I've got a – friends. I've got friends."

Puring her lips, she held her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright," she said. "You know best."

She stood and started collecting her things, pulling her coat on and pointedly stepping over the dropped papers. Remus didn't move from his place on the sofa, and when she was at the door he didn't turn round.

"If you change your mind about Auntie Tilley's make sure you ring me before tomorrow," she said stiffly.

Then she was gone, and he was alone again. The door clicked shut and he let out a frustrated noise, clutching at his hair. Just when things seemed to have been going alright between him and Sirius, his mother had dropped in, uninvited, without even having a reasonable excuse. Job applications. When was she going to stop? It was pathetic.

With that in mind, he stood abruptly and gathered all of the papers, marching into the kitchen and sticking them straight into the bin. Then he swivelled round and once more caught sight of Alice's number stuck to the fridge. Without even pausing to think about it he wrenched the phone from its holder and jabbed in her number. It wasn't too early anymore. Someone like Alice would be awake.

And indeed, she picked up after the second ring sounding as spritely and energetic as ever.

"I'll be in London tomorrow," he told her firmly, "if you want to have that chat."


	12. Chapter 12

**Warnings:** Mild sexual content

**A/N:** If anyone wants an idea of what Sirius's voice is like, I'm thinking Richard Butler in Love Spit Love's version of 'How Soon is Now', or Ed Sheeran in 'Kiss Me' (the latter of which was suggested by IWLTxo and enthusiastically backed up by me). So if anyone's interested I think you should definitely check those out.

* * *

><p>True to his word, Sirius did send George to pick Remus up the next day. He arrived fairly early on in the morning, around tenish, when Remus was still running around in tartan pyjamas from having tremendously overslept.<p>

George was outside in a little Vauxhall Nova that was surely his own; it was the kind of thing Sirius wouldn't be seen dead in. He apologised for the size of the car when Remus slid into the passenger seat, though there was really no need for him to be sorry at all; Remus was more than happy to go to London in something that wasn't likely to be sped off the road at any given moment.

"Sirius did buy me a car actually," George told him along the way, "but I had to sell it in the end. I just couldn't get to grips with the steering."

Remus grinned. He could definitely imagine Sirius cheerfully presenting his housekeeper with a muscle car.

It was raining in London when they pulled up outside Sirius's house in Kentish Town, following a few light hours of Terry Wogan's Breakfast Show. They had to make a mad dash for the front door, and once in the kitchen, safe, George gave him a towel for his hair and a cup of tea. He also scooped up Achilles and put him out in the rain.

"Don't tell Sirius I did that," George warned. "He'll murder me."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No. He set off rather early for James's house this morning so I didn't get the chance to speak with him. The interview's at two. Is there a rush?"

"No, no, not at all. I'm meeting Alice at one, so I suppose I'll be back before he is. Unless you need me out of the house?"

"Remus, somebody like you could never be in the way," George said kindly. He indicated their spacy surroundings. "Especially not in a house this size. Why don't you go on and sit in the lounge and watch television? I'll come for you when we need to set off."

"Oh I can walk, it isn't far," Remus protested, but given the awful weather George wouldn't hear of it. He took the towel from Remus, pressed the mug back into his hand and steered him towards the pristine lounge, even putting the remote in his lap for him. He was either an absurdly kind man by nature, or Sirius really did leave him with nothing to do all day.

Suffice to say, Friday day time meant there wasn't much on TV. He watched Gambit for a bit to indulge George – the star prize was a positively darling Fiat Panda – but Remus soon became significantly more interested in what surrounded Sirius's substantial television rather than what blared out of it.

Unlike all the other rooms on the first two floors, there was actually some photographic evidence in here that Sirius lived a life apart from Remus. Beside the Chesterfield stood a a neat side table, on top of which was a framed photograph of the whole band, standing with a burly-looking man in a pinstriped suit. While it was James shaking the bloke's beefy hand, they all looked pretty pleased with themselves. And so _young_. Sirius was standing next to James with a mop of black hair that only just about managed to fall into his eyes, and only one tattoo was etched into his skinny arm. He managed to look considerably better than Remus, but he was almost unrecognisable in the photograph. Same smile though, Remus noticed. A half-smile, unlike the others' bright white beams.

He picked the photograph up and moved it this way and that. The grey weather outside made it difficult to see properly, but it suddenly dawned on him, as he took in the fresh young faces, that he didn't really know much about Sirius's past at all.

Well. He knew he was from Highgate and that he had a brother. He knew he didn't like his family much, but then again, wasn't that the kind of thing some people said all the time without really meaning it? It wasn't as though Sirius had ever gone into much detail about the whole affair.

There was every possibility, of course, that it simply wasn't any of Remus's business, though he found himself wondering now if he was supposed to have asked. The furthest back Sirius had ever gone in his storytelling was the boyfriend from Crawley, and even then he'd only touched on it with a feather. Besides that, most of what Remus knew about Sirius concerned his life in recent years.

He paused, suddenly anxious. Did Sirius think he was some kind of callous prick now? No. Surely not. This was Sirius after all, and when did Sirius ever show regard for what other people thought?

He made to slide the photograph back on to the table when George suddenly appeared in the doorway, seemingly out of nowhere, with all the abruptness of Dr. Fate. Remus jumped so badly the photo slipped and toppled to the floor with a dull thud. He gasped and grabbed for it, breathing only when he saw the glass was intact, the photo safe.

"It's a quarter to one," George told him pleasantly.

He apparently didn't realise the magnitude of the crisis that had just been averted. If the photo had broken Sirius would have known Remus had been snooping in his things, staring at his handsome young face like some lecherous stalker. Plus for all he knew the frame had been constructed from white gold, gifted to Sirius by Bowie or something, making a breakage doubly disastrous.

"Right, brilliant. Let's be off." Hastily he stood and made to follow the housekeeper out of the room. "Gambit's just about finished so that's good timing."

Funnily enough, the café where he was meeting Alice happened to be the same one he had been to with Sirius the previous weekend, the one where everything was for sale. George could only take him so far into the cobbled square before Remus had to get out and dash through the pouring rain, bag on his head, up the slippery wooden stairs to the junk shop caf.

Alice was already seated when he arrived. It looked as though she'd been there a while. She'd already warmed up enough to take her coat off, and she was sitting with a half-finished cup of green tea. He almost asked if one had been the correct time, but the little woman was out of her chair and hugging him before he could.

"Hello, you!" she chirped. "It's great to see you again. Sit down! Bloody abysmal weather, isn't it? I thought autumn was supposed to be mild."

Agreeing that it was indeed ghastly, Remus dumped his sopping bag down on the floor and flopped back into a large patchwork armchair. It was a good job Alice was so nice; he looked like a drowned rat.

"Have you only just got into London?"

"Er, no, I'm staying with a – someone."

He tried to cast his mind back to the night at the Palace, unable to remember whether or not he'd told her about Sirius. Alice was lovely, but she was also a journalist for a very prolific magazine, so it was probably best not to mention who he was staying with. He didn't want to be pushed into doing something stupid, after all.

"Oh great! So if all goes well you might still be in town in a couple of days?"

"Erm –"

"You should probably give me the number of the person you're staying with," said Alice, rummaging in her handbag and producing a flowery address book. "I might have to get in touch with you and I only have your house number. I mean, if you're not going to be at home..."

Bugger.

"Well actually." He swallowed. Then he froze. Then calmly, as though it were the most brilliant of excuses, he said, "He doesn't have a phone."

"He doesn't have a phone?"

"Quite the technophobe." Remus shrugged. "Doesn't have a microwave either. Or an electric razor. He just doesn't shave."

"So." Alice was squinting now, pointing her pen at him. "How do you two stay in touch?"

Why didn't he just tell her to leave a message on the answering machine? Why?

"... We write."

"You write." Alice looked confused and unconvinced in equal parts. This was 1983 after all, and what kind of fashionable journalist wouldn't be gobsmacked at the idea of someone living in London and not owning a phone? She gave him a sly grin and clicked her pen. "Very funny, Remus. Come on, what's his number?"

"I'm being honest," he lied. "Look, why don't you just leave a message on my answering machine? I'll probably be home before you need to get back to me anyway."

She looked a bit put out, but fortunately shrugged and accepted the idea. After stowing her book and pen away again she fixed him with a bright smile.

"So! Let's see then."

Remus hauled his bag up on to his knees and produced the chosen articles, sliding them across the table towards her. He knew she wouldn't outright criticize him but, much like when he'd shown the Blue Stag piece to Moody for the first time, he hated watching people read his work.

While she gave them the once-over, he busied himself by ordering tea at the counter. Thankfully, the gormless waitress took a hell of a long while, and by the time he'd returned to the table Alice had already finished three of the five pieces. She was on to the Blue Stag article. The acoustic gig review – which he'd completed last night – she hadn't started on yet.

"Remus," she smiled, still reading, "you didn't tell me you went on tour with Blue Stag!" She turned and shoved the papers under his nose as though he needed confirmation of the tour himself. "When? _How_? Nobody gets to interview this band. I mean they _do_, but not like this. Nobody gets 'up close and personal'. How did you land it?"

"It was my boss actually," Remus told her, setting down his mug. "He's really great when it comes to... well actually, he's just terribly stubborn. I don't think he would take Atlantic's 'no' for an answer. So eventually they offered it us. Don't ask me why." _Dear God, don't ask me why._

"Wow! Now there's a man I need to be working for. I bet it was brilliant, wasn't it?"

"It was great."

She pursed her lips, glancing down at the article again.

"I know they live around here, and I've known one or two journalists who've been friends with them, but they've always been so reluctant to write about them. I've never understood why. These guys could be huge if they stopped being such divas." She suddenly appeared looked horrified at her own words and reached out to clasp a small hand around Remus's forearm. "Oh I'm sorry. If they're, you know, your friends."

"They're not," Remus said quickly. "Not... really anyway." He felt guilty for blanking Sirius like that, but it was for his own good. Who knew what London journalists were capable of?

"So I guess this one's been published?"

"Yes. But this one hasn't." Remus leaned across and pointed to the gig review. "I mean, if you wanted it..."

She swapped the papers and quickly scanned the review, kohl-rimmed eyes widening.

"That was a _private _gig. You got an invite! You're so lucky. I'd love to interview them, or even just see them live. Their first album was phenomenal. Second was a bit of a disappointment." Looking at him she added quickly: "But that's just my opinion."

Except it wasn't just her opinion; most critics had agreed that Blue Stag were already losing it. Personally he thought the second record was pretty good, but then again, Remus Lupin wasn't exactly the greatest of experts on punk music. Merseybeat, yes. Punk, not so much.

"So. You really want to give this to us?"

"Of course."

He was pretty proud of it, truth be told. He wasn't too bad at taking criticism and being knocked back, but he was quietly confident that Alice's editor was going to be interested in the review. It was Blue Stag and no other writer that he knew of had got anywhere near that gig.

"I'll take the others too though. They're really good." She looked up at him. "You're really good."

He smiled back awkwardly as Alice stashed the papers in her bag, giving him a neat thumbs up before glancing at her neat little swatch watch.

"My lunch break's almost over," she told him with an apologetic smile, quickly draining the rest of her tea. "It was really lovely to see you again, Remus. I'll put these in the pigeon hole as soon as I get back."

"Thanks," he said, standing up to see her off. "I hope you don't get too rained on."

Alice produced a purple umbrella from her bag with a laugh. "You're a doll."

She gave him a quick hug, then flounced from the café with one last wave, out into the torrential London downpour. He really did hope she didn't get too soaked. He even started to cross to the dusty sash window to make sure she hadn't slipped down the stairs until he caught the waitress giving him a funny look.

Slouching back to his seat he sat down and took a long sip of his tea. It would be ages before Sirius returned home, he thought, so he settled back into the armchair and waited for the rain to stop.

* * *

><p>Stop it did, eventually, and he returned to Sirius's house just after four o'clock. He only got lost a couple of times on the way, and his skin was icy cold but at least he wasn't wet. When he went inside he even considered stooping down to the level of Achilles (who had since been let in) and burying his hands in the soft orange fur. As it was, George had lit the fire in the lounge and Remus didn't have to put himself in danger of a sneezing marathon after all.<p>

"Is Sirius back?" he asked, stumbling slightly as George tugged his coat from him like a parent.

"No." George cast a glance at the mantel clock. "No, he's not. Are you hungry?"

Continuing the fatherly charade, he presented Remus with tomato soup and bread which he ate alone in Sirius's dining room, the cat circling his legs so that he had to keep twisting his feet this way and that. He was a bit anxious Sirius might come in and think it weird that Remus was eating in the formal dining room, but he needn't have worried; by five o'clock Sirius still wasn't back.

"These things normally only take an hour," said George, taking away Remus's empty bowl. "I wonder where he is."

His tone, while light, made it obvious that he was getting worried, and Remus wondered why. Of course, he would have liked Sirius to come back as soon as possible, but wasn't it normal for people to stay out even after they'd finished with a job or an errand? Surely Sirius stayed out all night sometimes; what did a few hours on a Friday afternoon matter?

"Oh, it's just..." George started when Remus asked him about it while he was washing up. "It's just he took his bike, that's all, and well – the weather." He motioned outside the window to Sirius's large back garden, drenched with rain.

Remus froze. "You don't think he's had an accident?"

"No, no. Of course not." George chuckled a bit, flicking suds from his fingers. "Rain can cause all sorts of problems with the signals and cutting out and what have you. I'd hate for him to have to wheel it back from wherever he is. He's done that before, you know."

"What, wheeled it back?"

"Oh yes. God forbid Sirius Black ask anyone for help," said George, shaking his head. "Ignore me, Remus. He'll be back soon, I'm sure of it."

But he wasn't sure of it now that George had planted a seed of doubt, an annoyance really because for once Remus had been the one keeping fairly calm. He knew Sirius owned and was very fond of motorbikes, and seeing as the Firebird was parked outside Remus should have put two and two together, but it hadn't even registered that he might be out in the rain on his bike.

He sat on the lounge couch chewing his nails for the next hour. He half-watched Top of the Pops for another. Achilles annoyed him for twenty or so minutes. Then Sirius came home.

Remus let out a long breath when he heard the low rumble of the bike outside, resisting the urge to look out of the window in case Sirius saw him. The front door swung open, bringing with it an ominous howl of wind. Boots squelched on the Victorian tiles.

Achilles, now laying in front of the fire, lifted his head to throw a vague look of interest at the door, but that was as far as his concern went. The footsteps could be heard trudging into the kitchen and the cat put its head back down again. Remus wasn't so quick to relax.

"Sirius!" he heard from George. "I was wondering when you were getting back. I thought –"

"Is Remus here?"

Sirius's voice was low and gravelly, and there was a slight pause during which Remus could clearly picture the look of surprise on George's face at being interrupted.

"He's in the lounge."

The boots squeaked as Sirius turned. Remus quickly straightened up, putting his hands in his lap and then on the edge of the couch and then in his lap again. When Sirius came in he was halfway between shifting his hands for a fourth time, stopping when he looked up at the tall, dark figure, leather jacket drenched, helmet under his arm. Sirius bent slightly and let it roll to the floor before coming further into the room.

He looked different. His expression seemed blank at first glance, though when Remus looked at him properly he could see a hard jaw, slightly pouted lips, dark eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, instead of uttering the welcome that had originally been on his lips.

To his surprise, Sirius held out a hand to him.

"Will you come upstairs with me?" he asked. Remus's eyes must have widened a little because Sirius continued, "I need to lie down."

His wet fingers curled slightly until Remus took the freezing hand and allowed Sirius to lead him out of the warm room and up the stairs. It was much colder in his bedroom. One of the hung windows was wide open, the sill spattered with rain and the wind slewing in, but Remus let it be; perhaps Sirius liked it like that.

He perched on the bed, heart thumping, watching in tense silence as Sirius pulled his boots and jacket off and chucked them in a corner. Only in jeans and a thin t-shirt then, he flopped down on to the other side of the bed and stared up at the ceiling, not saying a word.

The lights hadn't been turned on. They sat in darkness for a few moments. The only thing close to illumination came faintly from the streetlamps outside as the cold blew in through the window, thin curtains billowing gently. Remus wondered what he was supposed to do – if, in fact, he was supposed to do anything – until Sirius finally looked at him and put an arm out.

"Come and lay with me," he said softly. "Please?"

Remus didn't miss a beat as lay down next to him in the space just below Sirius's hand, though he yelped slightly when a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him further up the bed so that they were settled beside each other properly, Sirius's arm around his shoulders. He ran his cold hand up Remus's bare, goose-prickled arm.

"You're freezing," he observed, rubbing the arm more vigorously. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Maybe we could put a blanket over us or something."

"I don't have one. We could get under the covers."

Sliding under the freshly laundered sheets was like sliding into snow, but Sirius pulled him close again and they soon warmed up. Remus found he actually quite liked it, having arms around him like that. He'd never felt that before, been the puttee of arms rather than the putter, and he was surprised at how much he appreciated the firm feelings of warmth, his heart slowing as it became clear Sirius wasn't about to jump on him.

Now that they were settled Remus thought it a good time to ask.

"What's wrong?"

Sirius didn't answer at first. His left hand, splayed across Remus's stomach, moved in slow circles for a while.

"It was a bad day," he muttered, warm breath ghosting over Remus's ear. "James hates me."

Remus twisted a little to look at him. It was difficult to see his expression in the dark.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. "Was it the interview? Did it go badly?"

"No. That was fine. But we fought after. I hate fighting with James."

Suddenly, although he hadn't cast his mind back to the exact moment in quite some time now, Remus was transported back to Hammersmith Apollo. He recalled the heated argument between Sirius and James, James's bloody nose... and then Sirius on the bus, with Leo. The way his fingers had tugged on the man's shirt as he ducked his head, venting his frustrations, the way Leo had glared at Remus for interrupting them. At the time he'd taken it as Leo wanting the two of them to be alone, but perhaps he'd just been trying to avoid letting people see Sirius upset.

Remus suddenly pulled away. Was he just acting as Sirius's Leo?

Noting the shift, Sirius looked at him. "What?" He sounded a bit hurt actually, and Remus immediately felt bad and moved back into the warm space he'd left.

"Sorry. I had a... twitch. Say what you said again?"

Sirius looked at him, unconvinced, bottom lip jutting slightly. "I said I was fighting with James."

"What about?"

"You."

The air between them became tense for a moment.

"What about me?"

"He says I should stop seeing you."

Remus was surprised by how hurt he felt upon hearing the gruff words. Perhaps because, for a moment at least, he assumed Sirius shared James's sentiments.

"Are you going to?" he asked finally.

"No. But he said it." Sirius paused, looking down at him. His fingers were tracing ticklish, absent-minded patterns on Remus's stomach now. "He said a lot of things."

Silence fell over them again, Remus sensing it still wasn't his turn to speak.

Then, finally: "Remus, I want out."

"What do you mean?"

"Out. Out of the band. I don't want to do it anymore, any of it. I never did. It was James's idea. I wanted to do it on my own, but we had to do it _together_, we were best friends so of course we had to do it together." He blinked in the darkness. "But that's just it. It's ruined us. Have you ever cared about someone so much and then one day you realised... you didn't even know who they were any more?"

Silently, Remus shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said suddenly. He reached to stroke a hand through Remus's rough hair, repeating the action more gently with the backs of his fingers. "I don't mean to lay all this on you. You're not some kind of diary."

In a surprisingly bold movement, Remus found himself reaching up and taking hold of Sirius's hand, giving the fingers a gentle squeeze. He didn't know what sorts of things he might say that Sirius would be sensitive to and what sorts of things he wanted to hear, so he could either say nothing or say what came naturally to him.

"I care about you. If you're upset, I want to know why."

"Do you?" Sirius asked weakly, and then to the alarm of both of them his eyes suddenly welled up with tears. "Fuck!" He wrenched himself away from their embrace, sitting up and shaking off Remus's hand. "Oh for... _fuck_."

"It's alright!" Remus began to sit up too, but Sirius twisted to face him with wet, glaring eyes and he found himself recoiling.

"No it's _not_. I'm just so – I don't even know why I'm – fucking crying." He wiped at his eyes furiously. "It's just... it's _stupid_." His words came out harsh and jolted as he punched at the bed sheets with balled fists, and Remus inched back even further. If he went any closer, he felt for sure that Sirius would hit him.

But Sirius's hands relaxed, arms going limp. He wasn't really crying; his eyes glistened in the dark and, more than angry, he just looked exhausted.

"Why is everything so bad, Remus?" he asked in a hoarse voice, continuing before Remus could think what to say, "I know why. Because I haven't gained anything in the past five years except _money_. Everything else I've lost. I've lost my friends. I've lost my privacy. I've lost my self-respect."

The last word he spat out, and he looked on the verge of getting himself worked up again but Remus found his arm reaching out of its own accord, his hand wrapping around Sirius's, forcing the long fingers to uncurl.

"You've gained me," he said, barely having time to think before the words stumbled clumsily from his lips. "I'm your friend."

Sirius stilled for a moment, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair and speeding the hot tears in their journey down his face. Fingers flexing, he lowered his eyes to the hand wrapped around his. They travelled back up to meet Remus's gaze. In a second Sirius was on him, bringing their faces together with almost painful force and covering Remus's lips in a kiss so fierce he felt like he was being suffocated. Their teeth knocked clumsily, breathing out of beat, and Sirius's fingers gripped his shoulders so tightly Remus was sure there'd be bruises.

Just as quickly as it happened, Sirius pulled away.

"I _can't_," he choked out.

"It's alright."

"I can't keep..." He panted, struggling to find the words.

"I know."

Remus didn't know actually. He didn't have a clue. One thought was that Sirius was drunk, but he didn't _seem _it. He'd never been aggressive or upset when he'd been drinking, always cheerful and affectionate. He didn't smell of booze either; he smelt fresh, of faint cologne and rain, and if the situation had been different Remus probably would have enjoyed it.

But then he looked at Sirius again, looked at the bent back, the dark hair hanging in his face, and realised that, for once, the time genuinely called for him to stop being so shy and so awkward and unassertive and to help someone else out for a change.

Inhaling a lungful of the chilly air, he gathered all of his courage.

"You can tell me," he said. "You don't have to but you can. When I'm upset I write down... everything because I don't really have anyone I can share things with. Makes me feel better." He swallowed. His voice sounded odd, like it wasn't really him speaking, but Sirius wasn't telling him to shut up so he carried on with a tiny laugh. "I know you said I'm not your diary, but I'm quite good with secrets for a journalist."

He noticed with relief the way Sirius's shoulders relaxed a little. After a few tense seconds Sirius lay back down, and hesitantly, Remus joined him.

"I fucking _miss _him," Sirius said after a long time. "I don't know if I told you... my parents kicked me out when I was sixteen. Or I ran away, I don't really remember. It's not a sob story anyway. I don't really care. But it was James's family who took me in." He gave a tiny, bitter laugh. "Like a stray. That's sort of when the band started. I told him so much that summer, like you wouldn't believe. Stuff I'd never told anyone. He knows everything about me."

His normally level voice grew earnest and he turned so that they were facing one another, reaching out a hand to take hold of Remus by the jaw, gently, with none of the aggression of their last kiss. But then, that was Sirius all over. Fluctuating mood. Unpredictable.

"I think that's why I like you so much, Remus. I'd never met anyone since James that I'd felt comfortable talking to until I met you. Never pour my heart out to anyone. Not to the lads, certainly not to fucking interviewers. You turn me into a right sap." He smiled sadly. "And that's the funniest part... you're a journalist, but you're loyal. I knew from the moment I met you."

His gaze was piercing as they locked eyes, and Remus felt his breath catch in his throat. He hadn't expected this to become about him.

"Your eyes," Sirius said, "are so fucking... _kind_. And you're so unaffected, like none of this shit impresses you. Which it _shouldn't_. No one's ever like that, Remus, no one's ever kind. Everyone's just out for a piece of you. People just want to get you drunk and fuck you and sell the story, or take your own money straight from you. I try and stay out of it." He shook his head. "The others don't. James doesn't. He doesn't care who's hanging off him as long as they're telling him how wonderful he is."

His voice was gradually starting to speed up and Remus could tell he was getting flustered again. He clasped a hand on to the wrist that was still reaching out to his jaw, but Sirius didn't stop.

"He never used to be like that. I mean, he always liked attention at school, you know, but not like this. Not so much that he would leave me. Not so much that he would treat me like he doesn't even - he doesn't even..."

And then Sirius's eyes were glistening again, and Remus felt helpless watching him. For one wild moment, he thought some kind of love confession was approaching – a love confession for _James_. But it never came. That didn't seem to be what Sirius was getting at after all.

"I feel so alone all the time," he said instead, "in this _stupid _house that I can't fill. I fucking hate it, I hate being alone. I mean I'm only human, aren't I? I still want someone to touch. I'm allowed that, aren't I?"

Sirius closed his eyes tight, like he was ashamed.

"I know I shouldn't fuck around. I know it's risky and pathetic and disgusting, and I'm sorry. I am. But sometimes I just get so fucking _lonely_. It's alright for James to have a go, call me a reckless slut or useless or whatever. He has Lily." He opened his eyes. His voice finally cracked. "Who do I have? No one wants to touch me, Remus."

For a moment, Remus's thoughts were muddled. The journalist in him took what Sirius was saying at face value; surely everyone wanted to touch him? But then he saw the pained look in Sirius's eyes, the trembling bottom lip. The hardened exterior and carefree manner had vanished. He looked like a little kid.

"I do," Remus told him.

Sirius's expression became unreadable. The grey eyes darted down to linger on Remus's chest, a hand following. Then slowly, as though one wrong move would bring everything to pieces, Sirius inched forward until their noses were touching. Hesitantly, he touched his lips to Remus's.

"Really?" he said shakily.

Remus nodded. "Honest."

Then Sirius was kissing him, softly, slowly, with no bruising lips, no knocking teeth, and Remus kissed him back without thought or hesitation. When an arm slid around his neck, tugging him closer, Remus was surprised to find his own hands settling on the Sirius's waist. No awkward mind game of 'what goes where'. For once, kissing Sirius felt natural; if he hadn't been preoccupied, he would have wanted to kick himself for thinking in clichés.

He didn't even panic when he felt the hands slide down and around his back, pulling him closer still so that they were flush against one another, but he could feel Sirius's kisses growing more fervent as his tongue licked into Remus for one dizzying moment. For what felt like hours, and in reality could have only been a few minutes, they clung to each other, bodies meshing, long-fingered hands exploring the paths of warm, slightly shaking bodies.

It wasn't long after that Sirius was humming deep in his throat, hands dropping lower until his fingers were following the line of Remus's hips, dipping into the waistband of his jeans, sliding back out to smooth over the denim covering his arse.

That made Remus jump a little, he had to admit, but Sirius was clutching him before he could say a word, rolling them both over so that Remus was the one on top. One quick slip made their heads crack together painfully and they had to break the kiss, laughing into one another's mouths, but when Remus looked at him he could see, from the lights outside, that Sirius's eyes were shiny with tears even as he sniggered.

The smile faded from his lips as they stared at each other. Remus could feel fingers stroking him in slow, circular motions on his waist as he waited, tensing only slightly from the ticklish feel of the fingers but otherwise unusually relaxed. For once, he felt somewhat in control. Sirius wasn't drunk or high or simply bored. His dark eyes were earnest as he looked up at him, as though he really did want him.

His mouth dropped to Remus's throat, pressing a kiss there, hands trembling a bit, pulling him closer.

"Touch me," came the desperate, breathless voice, lips barely moving against the tender skin of Remus's neck. "Please."

If the strange, dark look in Sirius's eyes hadn't held his attention, Remus would have been shocked at his own lack of reservations. He showed and felt no hesitation as he trailed his fingers towards Sirius's waistband, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips as he worked on the button. His body seemed to want to take control, and Remus gladly let it.

Sirius wore drainpipes today instead of those impossibly tight trousers, and it was a lot easier for Remus to get the button undone and the thick zipper down. He panicked, if only fleetingly, upon realising that he was faced with the task a lot more quickly than he thought he'd have been. But Sirius's breathing had begun to speed up, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed convulsively, and it relaxed Remus somewhat to know that he was the one on top, and that Sirius was the one writhing and pleading beneath him.

He managed, with Sirius's help, to shove down the jeans and boxers in one swift movement. Then he leant back, licking his lips.

"Do you have – do you have any –?"

He didn't really know what word was best to use, but Sirius seemed to understand anyway; in a move that could have been taken as either desperate or enthusiastic, he reached out and grabbed Remus's hand, licking a long, wet stripe from palm to fingertips, before shoving it back at him. It was, quite possibly, one of the most ridiculously erotic things Remus had ever witnessed. He probably would have sat there blinking dumbly for some time if Sirius hadn't urged him breathlessly: "Go on."

Slowly, Remus lowered his hand beneath the covers. It took only one touch to pull from Sirius a sharp, ragged breath. It was when Remus finally wrapped his whole hand around him, finger by finger, that he actually groaned, low in his throat, as though receiving much more than the mere touch of a hand.

Why Remus was so surprised at the feel of it he wasn't sure, but something about the way Sirius felt – the combination of hardness and heat, of silky skin and slight stickiness when he ran his thumb over the tip – sent nerves, or excitement, or arousal, or _something _plummeting to the depths of his stomach, to his crotch, to his toes.

He stared, entranced, as he jerked his hand with slow, even movements, lips parted to allow heavy breaths to escape, eyes occasionally darting up to watch Sirius's expression change whenever Remus swiped a thumb or switched direction or gave a gentle, tentative squeeze.

What he found most engaging though was the noises Sirius made; the sighs and moans, the pleas for _more_ and _faster_, as though this was something genuinely special even though Sirius had received and done so much more in the past. He didn't even seem to care when Remus had to spit on his hand a few more times, simply arching into the touch when it returned.

Remus liked the way Sirius's chest rose and then fell, trembling, and when he reached out to stroke his hand over the cotton covering the shuddering abdomen he was fascinated by the way the muscles alternately relaxed and tightened beneath his fingers.

"Remus," Sirius ground out, but whatever he was going to say was lost as he reached to pull Remus down for a clumsy kiss, fingers curling and uncurling in his hair. "_Remus_."

He was almost stupid enough to ask "what?" before the sudden jerk of Sirius's body, the strangled moan ringing out into the room, stopped him. He felt Sirius's face against his shoulder, pants of hot breath ghosting over his skin as Sirius gripped at him, shuddering out his release, spilling messily over Remus's hand.

Remus stilled as he dragged his eyes from his fingers to look at the man beneath him. Sirius's breaths were heavy, his hair stuck up at odd angles from sliding against the pillow, his cheeks still stained with tears. It was only now that Remus registered how hot he felt. His shirt was sticking to him in spite of the cold still coming in through the window, and he realised how tense he'd been as he now relaxed into the chill breeze.

They stared at one another in silence. It was obvious that neither of them had been prepared for something intense. Slow seconds passed, and it was Sirius who finally moved first, leaning back to lift his t-shirt up and off.

"Here."

He pressed it into Remus's sticky hand, and Remus climbed off him to gingerly clean up as best he could with it.

"I needed that," Sirius told him, slinging an arm up behind his head.

"Was it – ? I mean... was it alright?"

"Yeah," Sirius whispered back. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry." They looked at each other. "Are you sleeping in the guest room tonight?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No."

"Then I'll stay," said Remus, looking around for a place to deposit the shirt. Sirius took it from him and threw it into a corner before pulling Remus down into his arms and tugging the sheets up over them. The heat was fading now, the cold becoming noticeable once more, and neither of them seemed to want to get up and close the window.

"I think I cried," Sirius murmured after a while.

"Only a bit."

He laughed gently. "Well thanks for not running away when I did," he said, pressing a kiss to Remus's temple. "Stay with me."

"I am doing."

"Stay with me a long time."

Remus blinked up at him. "How long is a long time?"

"Forever, if you like."

Sirius forced a grin, and Remus wanted to laugh back, but the look in the grey gaze was saddening. He knew that, even if Sirius was saying it as a joke now, he probably _would _let Remus stay forever if he said yes.

"A week?" Sirius said softly instead. "Stay for the rest of the week."

There were options. He did, of course, have work that he needed to do, but he supposed that could be done anywhere. And then there was Alice, but if she was leaving a message on the answering machine then surely that could wait.

"Alright," Remus eventually agreed. "Though I don't think I have enough stuff for a week."

"Wear my stuff," Sirius said immediately. "No, wait. We're doing a radio show in Oxford tomorrow. I could take you to yours. Pick you up on the way back." He prodded him gently in the side. "Could take the bike."

"I don't know about the bike," said Remus, "but the rest sounds fine."

Sirius smiled down at him. He seemed genuinely grateful, as though this actually meant a great deal to him. Finally, he closed his eyes.

Remus watched him for a while. He wasn't a bit tired, but Sirius slept almost straight away. Remus couldn't blame him. He seemed exhausted, and he had the feeling that Sirius had barely even touched the surface of what had upset him so much. He decided to forget his earlier resolution to take more of an interest in Sirius's past for now; it wasn't his place to pry.

Turning on his side, Remus tried to relax, but he couldn't shake the recent images from his mind: Sirius's wet eyes, the expressions on his face, the way he'd collapsed against Remus afterwards, shaking. What had started as friendship – fun, exhilarating, daunting friendship – had suddenly taken a turn for... what? The worse, because Sirius was showing that he actually had more problems than Remus initially realised? Or for the better, because Sirius was opening up to him?

Watching him sleep, Remus decided it didn't matter. Surely Sirius would be back to normal soon and then they could talk properly about it. Until then there was no point worrying. There was nothing, after all, that Remus could do. He'd have to wait for Sirius to come to him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Warnings:** None

* * *

><p>Sirius didn't say much the next morning. He got out of bed early, left Remus there and went for a shower. Twenty minutes later he returned with damp, back-combed hair and two mugs of tea.<p>

Muttering his thanks, Remus took a cup from him and carefully sat himself up in the warm, impossibly comfortable bed, all memory foam mattress and pillows stuffed with goose feathers. He'd fallen asleep in his jeans and t-shirt which had left him a bit stiff-legged, but the pleasant warmth of the room more than made up for it. Sirius had shut the window at some point, so it was toasty despite the chilly, sunshiney weather evident through the window.

"Did you sleep alright?"

"Yes," Remus lied.

He didn't want Sirius to think he'd slept badly because they were sharing a bed. Despite the plush comfort of the mattress and covers, the pleasantly novel press of a warm body next to his, his sleep had been restless. He'd woken up more than once, expecting to find Sirius sobbing or simply gone. No, he'd been there next to him the whole time, huffing away peacefully while Remus, as usual, was the one who fretted.

"Are you okay then?" Remus asked, watching as Sirius slid back into bed, clean clothes and all.

He hadn't smiled yet, his only answer a simple "yep". He wouldn't look at Remus as he sipped his tea either. It was almost like he was embarrassed.

Tactfully, Remus changed the subject.

"What time is it?"

"Almost nine," Sirius mumbled into his mug as he turned away from the clock on the bedside table.

"And what time have you got to be in Oxford?"

Sirius didn't answer straight away.

"Come on, what time?" Remus pressed. God, he sounded like his mother.

"One."

"We'd better get a move on then, hadn't we?"

"No," Sirius said stubbornly.

"Yes." Remus raked a hand through his hair and took another sip of his tea. "It'll take two hours to get to Gloucester, and then at least an hour to get back to – in fact, it's stupid. There's no point. I might as well take the train."

He couldn't expect Sirius to take him all the way home and then come back for him. It wasn't like he could give him money for petrol.

"If we take the bike we'll get there faster," Sirius pointed out.

"Don't be ridiculous. You still have the same speed limits as everyone else."

"We can dodge traffic," said Sirius, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm not going on a motorbike with you, especially not if you're dodging traffic."

"Oh, but it's great." It must have been really great, because Sirius finally smiled. "Whenever the traffic starts to slow down you just blink your headlights on and off until all the cars part. They think you're a police bike."

"How juvenile."

"Brilliant more like." Sirius batted Remus's leg with his free hand. "Go on. It'll cheer me up."

"Oh, that's how you get your way, is it?" said Remus good-naturedly, but he kept up the I-definitely-do-not-want-to-go-on-your-deadly-motorcycle bit for a good twenty minutes before he found himself standing in Sirius's front hall, a blue and silver helmet being pressed into his hands. Sirius, stood smiling before him, patted the hard, plastic top.

"There you go," he chirped, shrugging himself into his jacket and zipping it up, "get that on you."

At least, Remus reasoned, it was one of the full-face sports helmets, rather than one of the ridiculous open-faced ones he'd seen people wearing on scooters, so he wouldn't look too stupid. Even so, he knew his anxiety showed on his face as he trudged after Sirius out of the front door, helmet in hand, into the crisp outdoor chill.

He wanted to keep Sirius happy – and he had indeed cheered up immensely since Remus had finally caved - but bloody hell, he did not want to get on that bike. Sirius's driving was bad enough.

But he was happy, that was the main thing. And what was wrong with getting on the beast of a vehicle and riding off towards certain death if it meant keeping Sirius Black happy?

Someone – presumably George – had covered the bike in the night to shield it from the rain. It looked not so much parked as abandoned by the curb. Sirius ripped off the wet black cover with relish, tossing it over the garden gate, then stood back to admire the bike in its full glory as though he hadn't seen it all before. It was red and black and white and very pretty, with hulking great tyres and gleaming machinery.

"It's very... shiny," said Remus, quickly realising how amateurish he sounded. "I mean, er, what is it?"

Sirius, by this point, had lit up a morning cigarette, stepping back to perch on the wall of his house and admire his vehicle in full.

"Katana. Japanese," he said proudly. "You can't go wrong with Jap bikes. Honestly, people go for these classic British bikes thinking they're really fancy and alright, they're pretty enough, but they run like shit."

He blew his smoke out slowly, watching as it mingled with the cold, crisp mist.

"I remember," he said, a little more smoke billowing from between his lips, "I remember when I was sixteen, when we'd hang around with all these other lads with our little second-hand Brit bikes. I had this Ariel Arrow that leaked petrol everywhere, _dead_ proud of it I was."

He held a hand up to demonstrate the low height, laughing.

"Then one day we're all stood outside Hawaiian Eye – this club in Camden – when Fab's brother Gideon comes racing round the corner, all his red hair flying – 'cos of course, no one wore a helmet then – on this bright red Honda Dream. He let me have one go and honestly, Remus, I've never ridden a Brit bike since."

Remus didn't fully understand all of the words – the only katanas he'd ever seen or heard of were the ones in The Master Gunfighter – but he nodded anyway and Sirius seemed satisfied enough that he'd understood.

"It's technically a touring bike, but er, it's a bit smaller than normal cruisers," he said, taking another thoughtful drag on his cigarette. "You'll have to budge up pretty tight."

Remus stared at him as Sirius threw the fag away and twirled his helmet in his hands, getting up from the wall.

"Am I going to fall off the back?" he asked, his voice suddenly a rather anxious squeak.

"No." Sirius stepped up to him so they were standing face to face. He'd placed his own helmet on the seat of the bike, and now he took Remus's from him. "Not as long as you hold on. Now, put this on."

He slid it on to Remus's head himself. It felt weird and heavy and hot, as though he were drunk.

"Might be a bit loose." As Sirius tightened the hidden straps for him, he caught Remus watching him and his lips quirked up into a brief smile as he tapped the side of the helmet with his palm. "Suits you."

Turning, Sirius reached for his own helmet, pulled it on much more deftly, and slung a leg over the hulking bike.

"Just climb on," he said, and reluctantly Remus followed suit.

The seat was a lot smaller than he thought it was going to be, the padded leather only just reaching the end of his arse so that he gulped as he turned and looked at the small amount of metal left behind him.

He jumped as the bike suddenly roared into life, arms automatically reaching to clasp around Sirius's waist, fingers clutching frantically at the soft leather of his jacket.

"That's it," he heard Sirius say, "hold on."

As though Remus was going to do anything but. He clutched harder as Sirius ripped the bike away from the curb, shooting off up the street. His body lurched forward automatically so that he was effectively draped over Sirius's back as they hurtled towards the main road.

_Oh God oh Christ oh God_. It was even worse than Remus had thought it was going to be – and yet oddly exciting too. For someone who tended to travel by foot or, if he was feeling generous, bus, it was definitely more than a little exhilarating to zoom through the streets. He didn't even care how queer he looked, gripping Sirius like that. People could think he was a girl for all he cared. He wasn't loosening his grip.

"Like it?" Sirius called, once they finally came to their first red light.

"No!" Remus called back, and he felt Sirius's laughter against his locked arms.

But it did get a little better once they were on the motorway. Sirius did dodge traffic, but not nearly as much as he probably would have done had Remus not been there, and they did end up getting to Gloucester in a much shorter amount of time than they would have in the car or on the train.

It didn't seem real, drawing up outside his house in less than two hours. Sirius had really picked up the speed in the last ten or so miles as they found their way on to the empty country lanes, and Remus was glad, regardless of the slight amount of excitement he'd had during the experience, to finally be able to slide off the bike in front of his house, practically collapsing on to the floor.

"Ow," he said weakly. His arse was numb and his thighs ached, and he wondered how Sirius travelled around on that animal of a thing on a regular basis.

Sirius grinned as he shut off the engine, resting his foot on the ground and pulling off his helmet. Remus copied him, relishing the cool breeze in his now sweaty hair. He watched Sirius hop off the bike.

"So," he said slowly, walking up to Remus's weak self with a little smile, "sort your stuff and I'll be back around three. Be as quick as I can."

Remus nodded, tucking the helmet safely under his arms.

"Well I'll see you at three then," he said with a smile, taking a small step back. Sirius quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. His spare hand reached out to grab Remus's arm and tug him back, planting a kiss squarely on his lips, right there in the middle of the street.

"Sirius!"

"What? Who's gonna see?" Sirius laughed. He looked behind Remus. "Blood the mutt?" he said, gesturing to the front window of next door's house where the dog was waiting, as usual, drooling and glaring.

"I hate that dog," Remus mumbled, eyes still darting around with the alarm of being kissed in public. His home town was a small place. Anyone could see, and it only took one person to get everyone else talking. Still, he was glad Sirius didn't seem upset anymore. He was glad he wanted to kiss him goodbye, even if he was going to be back in a couple of hours.

Sirius didn't seem overly bothered by Remus's reaction. He bent his head so they were eye-level and said very deliberately, "Bye, Remus," before shoving his helmet back on and climbing swiftly back on to the bike. He kicked it back into action and made a sharp, screeching turn to speed back up the road the way they'd come, back towards the motorway. Remus watched him go, noting that he went much faster without Remus on the back, which he supposed was rather sweet.

Once inside, he placed the helmet carefully on the coffee table and hit the Message button on his answering machine, as always. One incoming message was announced and, thinking little of it, he allowed it to play as he went into the kitchen for a glass of water. All the terror had made him thirsty.

It was his dad. He knew before the voice even spoke, from the clearing of the throat. His dad always did that.

"_Remus? It's your dad. Er – I'm hoping you get this before you go to London. Bit of bad news, son._"

Remus paused in reaching for a glass from the top cupboard, and turned towards the answering machine through the open doorway, as though his dad were actually there.

"_It's your mam,_" the message went on, "_she had a bit of an accident in Tewkesbury yesterday and, well, done her foot in._"

Remus started towards the machine, glass in hand, leaving the cupboard hanging open.

"_Now, now, I don't want you to worry,_" his dad said, as though sensing Remus coming towards the phone, "_but the thing is, she's going to be bedridden for a few days. I'm doing my best, but you know I've got the farm to worry about, son, and I'm afraid I'm going to need you to help out for a bit. She can't do anything. We could really do with you staying a few days, and I know you can work from home, so..._"

Another awkward clearing of the throat.

"_Anyway, I hope you get this before you go, because I can only put off work for the rest of the day. I really need you here, Remus._"

There were a few more things, something about his old bedroom, then a hasty farewell, that Remus barely heard. He was staring at the phone, allowing the words to sink in and stick.

_She had a bit of an accident – I'm going to need you to help out for a bit – I really need you here._

As soon as the message ended, he wrenched up the phone and punched in his parents' home number. It rang and rang and rang, and for a horrible moment he thought his dad had gone out and left his mum there, but no, a breathless voice picked up.

"Hello?"

"Dad! I just got your message. What's going on?" he asked urgently.

"Oh, Remus," his father said, sounding relieved. "I'm glad I caught you. Haven't you left for London?"

"No, I just came back for a – I'm – what's wrong with Mum? Is she alright?"

His dad sighed. "She had a bit too much to drink at Tilley and Michael's. Fell right down the stairs, didn't she?"

"_She fell down the stairs?_" Remus repeated. He'd sort of been expecting something a bit more adventurous. Not that his concern lessened any, but falling down the stairs was a bit of an embarrassing story to have to tell.

"Her ankle's all swollen, I've never seen anything like it," his dad explained. "Broken, of course, but it'll be a few days before she feels up to using the crutches. I could really do with your help, son."

"Dad..."

He knew the sorts of hours his father worked – and even if he had been retired, Remus knew the man would make a right pig's ear of looking after his wife anyway – but he had plans, for goodness' sake. Not to mention work of his own to be getting on with (although he conveniently managed to forget about that when it was Sirius who wanted to spend time with him).

"I know you've work to do," his father continued, as though reading his mind, "but you can do it here. We're even closer to the office than your house is. And we've got your old bedroom still, I can make it up for you. All she needs is someone to do a bit of cooking and get whatever other bits and bobs she needs. That's all. It won't be more than a few days, a – a week max."

A _week_? Remus didn't say anything for a few moments and his dad, noting the silence, cleared his throat.

"Of course, I can always ask the neighbours to check in on her. And I could make her meals up before I go out to the farm in the mornings. It'd be a squeeze but I could do it."

He must have really wanted Remus to do it; it was unlike his father to guilt trip him into doing anything.

And of course Remus had to say yes. This was his mother, for Christ's sake. It was more than likely her own fault for getting drunk and falling down the stairs of Auntie Tilley and Uncle Michael's posh new house in Tewkesbury, but what kind of heartless son would he be if he didn't look after her in spite of her own inebriated clumsiness?

"No," Remus said reluctantly, "no, it's alright, Dad. I'll come. But I can't be there straight away."

"That's fine!" his dad garbled. "That's absolutely fine. I've someone looking in on the farm this afternoon. Can't be doing that too many days in a row."

Remus licked his lips. "No," he said, "definitely not." He placed the glass down on the table to run a hand through his hair. "I'll see you in a bit then."

After they'd said goodbye and hung up, Remus fell back on to the sofa with a great sigh. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head in hands, racking his brains for what to say to Sirius.

Sirius. Would it be arrogant to assume he'd be bothered about this? He'd been so upset last night. He'd cried. And now, jut this morning, he'd started to cheer up a bit, and Remus was going to throw his offer right back in his face. It couldn't be helped of course, but he still felt nervous. He didn't want to upset him even more.

As well as that, Remus had actually been looking forward to spending time with him anyway, and he wasn't even allowed to acknowledge that because that would mean getting angry at his own mother for being injured.

He let out a frustrated noise as the thoughts became so jumbled up it felt like they were ropes tying themselves in messy knots in his head.

He was unsure what to do with himself. He gave a glance towards the pile of unfinished work on the kitchen table, but he'd stressed himself out too much to concentrate. He tried putting the telly on for a bit, but he simply stared at the screen, not really taking anything in. Instead, he kept recalling bits of his and Sirius's conversation last night. What stood out most in his mind was I hate being alone. His stomach lurched every time he thought of it.

The two hours dragged by, of course. By the time he finally heard the press of the doorbell, he still hadn't thought what to say, and when he stood up he was so tense he felt sure Sirius would be able to tell what was wrong before he'd even said a word.

When he did open the door however, Sirius didn't comment on Remus's anxious demeanour at all, offering a bright smile instead.

"Hey!" he said cheerfully. "God, that was a ball ache. Bloody radio host kept getting me and James mixed up. Luckily Fabian was pissed out of his head so they cut the interview short. Got your stuff?"

Remus opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Then he forced the words out. "Sirius, I can't come."

Sirius looked surprisingly calm at this.

"Well hurry up and get ready then!"

"No, I mean I _can't_."

"Is it the bike?" asked Sirius, but by now a flicker of concern had etched its way into his features. "You were fine on the way here."

"It's not the bike," said Remus, swallowing the lump in his throat, "it's my mum. She's sort of had an accident. I need to stay and look after her."

Sirius stared at him. "Your mother?"

"I'm really sorry," Remus rushed out, starting to find his voice, "it's just my dad owns this dairy farm, and he can't really be away for too much time, and I don't have any brothers or sisters so there's only me can look after her, you see?"

"What's wrong with her?"

"Well... from what I've heard, she can't walk."

"Oh," said Sirius, sounding disappointed that it hadn't turned out to be a situation that he could talk Remus out of. "Well. Alright then."

"I'm really sorry."

Sirius shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. I'll see you some other time, I guess." And then, just like that, he turned to leave.

"Wait!" said Remus, and Sirius turned back, eyebrows raised hopefully. "Er, I don't have to go straight away. My dad's home for the afternoon, so you could stay for a bit?"

He looked at him pleadingly. _Stay. Don't be mad at me. Stay._

"No, I should go. I don't want to – hit the rush hour traffic," said Sirius limply, even though it was a Saturday. He was already stepping back from the doorway. "See you."

Instinctively, Remus stepped forward, expecting Sirius to kiss him again. But he was already pulling his helmet back on, heading back towards the still-chugging bike. He didn't even wave goodbye as he rode off down the long street, and Remus watched him go numbly, gripping the doorframe with a forlorn expression.

Something told him that definitely could have gone better.

* * *

><p>"It does ache something <em>awful<em>."

"What can I do to help, Mum?"

"Well, nothing. I just wanted to say."

Remus sighed and returned to the stove, stirring the bubbling tomato and onion sauce that had been requested ten minutes ago. Well, this specific sauce hadn't been requested – his mother would probably complain about how fattening pasta was when she saw the finished product – but dinner had been.

The conversation he was having with her was happening across the kitchen and living room, his mother calling to him every so often – mostly to complain – and him calling back in as calm a voice as possible. Upon arriving at the house he'd expected to find her sleeping, maybe awake but a bit quiet and morose, wanting to do nothing more strenuous than read or complete the crossword.

But no, when he arrived late that afternoon, after his father had returned to the farm for a few early evening errands, she was in the midst of applying her _make-up_ of all things. He'd asked why she felt the need to wear it. Her answer had been a shrill, "I'm going to have lots of visitors, Remus!"

She'd been right there. People from the village kept coming in and out long after an hour which Remus felt was socially acceptable. In fact, he'd only just now managed to get rid of the doddering little lady from the greengrocer's who'd insisted on plying his mum with baskets of the freshest fruit.

It was ridiculous. She wasn't dying; she'd broken her foot, for goodness' sake. If anything, Remus should have been the one getting gifts for quitting on Sirius to look after her.

No, that was mean. It wasn't really her fault she couldn't walk. Still, she _was_ laying it on a bit thick...

"Remus! How am I supposed to get better with pasta?" she demanded when he placed a steaming plate in front of her five minutes later.

"Mum, you've got a broken foot, not Whipple's. What's the matter? You used to make this for me."

"Well, you're a string bean, that's why."

Remus sat down in his father's armchair while she ate, one eye on _Coronation Street_. She spoke to him as she watched.

"Have a nice time in London, did you?"

"Mm."

"Where did you stay?"

Remus didn't answer for a few moments, too busy watching Ken row with Deirdre about her affair with Mike to register the question. When he did, he blinked a few times, turning back towards the expectant face of his mother.

"Oh, er – Sirius's house."

She fiddled with her fork a bit, one plucked eyebrow raised.

"Sirius's house?"

"Well, where else if I was in London?"

She shrugged, turning back to the television. "Are you sure Sirius wanted you on his hands? I expect he has a wife, doesn't he? I thought you might have stayed in a nice London hotel."

Remus resisted the urge to scoff at the wife comment. "Where would I get the money for a nice hotel?"

"Oh yes," his mother said smugly, "where indeed?"

He was annoyed then, because it was like she was deliberately trying to get him to admit his failures.

"Are you just gonna bicker at me?" he asked her. "I'm sorry for the other day, alright?"

"Alright," she said childishly, taking a bite of pasta.

"And he doesn't have a wife," Remus added. "He asked me to stay."

"What on earth do you two _do_? The only thing worth doing in London is shopping, and it's not like you have the money for that. Or the inclination."

"Watched Gambit," Remus mumbled.

She rabbited on for a little while longer, but she settled down a bit once the novelty of being waited on wore off, and by the time Remus helped her to bed, she was almost back to her normal self – still bossy, but at least not snippy with him anymore. That was a plus, he supposed, because if she had still been upset about the other day the whole experience of staying in his parents' house would have been a lot more tense.

When she was as comfortable as she could be with the heavy, mangled foot at the end of her body, Remus went downstairs to turn off the lights and television, double-checked the spare key was under the plant pot on the doorstep for when his dad returned, did the washing up, and then retired to his old bedroom.

It was a tiny box of a room at the back of the house. It was still exactly as he remembered it. It wasn't even dusty because his mother – when she wasn't immobile – continued to include it in her semi-weekly house cleanings as though he still lived there. It still had the same bright yellow, shell-patterned wallpaper, the same pine single bed with the plaid throw, the red shag pile rug that used to shed all over his socks, the corkboard filled with local tickets for gigs and letters from friends and faded polaroids and drawings – and there in the corner, the same scratched pine desk where he'd scribbled out his first ever articles for Soundscape.

The records were gone, of course – and the turntable – but everything else was as it had been, so that when he flopped back on the tiny bed it was like being sixteen again, lying beneath a large Beatles for Sale poster and a windowsill crammed with junk.

He sighed as he reached up to place his hands behind his head, mind swimming. It was only nine. Still too early to go to bed, and his dad wouldn't be back for a good while yet. It would be much easier if they lived in the farmhouse, but his mother didn't want to live on the farm for long after Remus was born. He didn't know why. He would have loved to have grown up on the farm, rather than in this claustrophobic, over-embellished little village house.

Now more than ever he wanted to be away from it. At that very moment he could have been in Sirius's house, in his attic, in his bedroom. He wouldn't have even minded being in the kitchen with Achilles pawing at him if it meant just being there. He knew that was mean to his mum, but anyone would have preferred being with Sirius Black than looking after their complaining mother.

Remus wondered what Sirius was doing now. He thought about phoning him, but quickly decided against it. He'd probably be out somewhere. With James perhaps, if they'd managed to patch things up at the interview. Or maybe with -

No. Sirius would be tired after riding all the way back home. He wouldn't be out. He'd be at home. Alone. Maybe, Remus thought, he _should_ call him. He even made to get up off the bed, but then he stopped, closing his eyes resignedly, and laid back down. What was the point of phoning? What could he say? _Yeah, my mum did my head in for a couple of hours, we watched Corrie, and now she's asleep while I'm in my tiny old bedroom, wishing I hadn't buggered up our plans._

In the end, he curled back up on the little bed, pulled the plaid throw right up to his chin like he used to do when he was a kid, and flicked out the orange lava lamp on the bedside table. He was more tired than he usually was at this time, mainly since his mother had had him on his feet for most of the evening, but it was still a good hour before sleep finally gripped him – and even then it was restless.

It continued to be restless for the next two days as his mother became increasingly irritable. She basically refused to move from her bed, so that Remus had to bring everything _up_ to her, which was fine at first but quickly grew to be immensely irritating. And of course, Monday just so happened to be one of her two house-clean-up-of-the-week days, so he was forced into doing that too.

He remembered his mother suffering a similar foot injury on holiday in Devon when he was about twelve, and she hadn't been nearly as unbearable then. Maybe this was just punishment for throwing her stupid job applications at her the other day, and then making the mature decision not to visit his Aunt and Uncle at the age of twenty-three.

Whatever it was, it was getting to him so much that on Tuesday morning he had to escape the house with vague excuses of needing more clothes and picking up work. The fresh air was a godsend – he hadn't realised until now how much the scent of orange blossom had been clogging up his senses – but he didn't feel safe until he was home behind closed doors, back in his crappy little house, breathing in the cold musk, practically dancing in the grey light.

And there was a message! A message on his answering machine. His heart leapt at the thought that it might be Sirius, assuring him he didn't hate him after all.

So set on this idea was he that when, in fact, it turned out to be Alice's voice flowing into his living room, he was rather disappointed. Her bright voice asked him to ring her back as soon as he got the message, but he waited a little while longer before getting back to her until he knew she'd be on a lunch break.

She picked up after the second ring.

"Remus!" There was always that tone of surprise with her. "You _are_ home."

"Er, yeah. Change of plan."

"Brilliant! Well, not brilliant, but sort of because that means I can talk to you. It's about what you gave me the other day."

"Oh?"

"First of all, the editor – his name's Will Kweller – was _very_ impressed, just like I was. He couldn't believe your connections."

Remus hesitated. "I don't really have connections, it was only Blue –"

"And he'd like to talk to you some time, and he'd like to publish your review, _and_ he'd like you to write something else for us."

"What – really?" Remus moved from slumping against the wall to an upright position, suddenly interested.

"You sound surprised."

"I don't know, I just wasn't expecting a response so quickly."

"He doesn't like to mess around, Remus. I went straight to him. If you got us something by, say, tomorrow – in time to put it through a copy-editor and Will – you would probably end up in the next issue."

"Really?"

"I know it's short notice. You'd be paid, of course."

Remus didn't care about short notice. He'd been known to write publishable articles within minutes when necessary. "What does he want me to write?"

"Well, you're the journalist, it's up to you. I don't know how you work. I mean, we'd want something modern obviously, something up-to-date. Preacher covers a fairly wide range of genres." Then Alice paused, and Remus could hear her hesitate for a short second. "Of course, if you had anything else on Blue Stag..."

Remus was silent for a few moments, considering Alice's words. "I don't really... have anything else on them."

"No?" said Alice, sounding disappointed. "It's just that would be a way to pretty much ensure you'd get published. Gossip on that band is few and far between, so anything we do get Will likes to snatch up pretty quickly."

It was that word _gossip_ that got to Remus. He didn't share gossip. That had been the one thing he'd sworn never to do.

"I don't really know what I could write about them," he said weakly. "I mean, I've got other stuff I'm working on that I could…"

"Remus," said Alice, and for the first time since he'd met her she sounded rather firm. "Think of your career."

"I don't have their permission, Alice," he said eventually, telling her the same thing he'd said to Dorcas. "It wouldn't be fair. I can't just milk them for all they're worth."

"You're a journalist; it's your job to be ruthless. And you said they weren't your friends," said Alice. "You lived with them for a month, didn't you? There must be _something_."

He didn't like her tone. Preacher had never seemed, to him, a magazine that was about gossip but then again, every issue was huge. The more he thought about it, maybe he just automatically skimmed over the personal articles to get to ones about the music. It wasn't like he ever read an issue cover to cover. Maybe there was gossipy stuff in there all this time, and he'd never realised it.

Did that mean he had to join in?

"I'll... see what I can do," he said finally, wringing the plastic phone cord around his fingers.

"Fantastic. Can you be in London tomorrow? I'll give you the address for the head office."

She recited it to him, and when he'd made a note of it, the two of them said goodbye and hung up.

A short while later, after taking his well-earned break, Remus found himself back in his parents' house, seated in his dad's armchair again, rifling through his current workload for something he could steal from under Frank's nose. There were a couple of maybes, but mostly the search just helped increase his nerves upon realising how many Soundscape deadlines he was yet to meet.

"What are you doing?" his mother asked, once her current television programme was over and she'd registered the flurry of shuffling papers.

"Trying to find something," he mumbled distractedly. He was currently torn between a recent, half-finished review of a festival in Bath – quite a popular event and something he reckoned would be found in Preacher – and doing as Alice suggested and using Blue Stag, once again, for his own gain.

"Well can you find it a bit more quietly?"

Remus slapped down the current paper he was holding against his knees and looked at her. She had grown worse, not better, since he'd taken a break from her, as though his leaving for a couple of hours was some great betrayal.

"Mum," he said slowly, sensing another way to get on her nerves, "I almost forgot to tell you. I'm off to London again tomorrow."

"_Again_?" She whirled round in her seat as far as she could without moving her lower body. "Remus, you live here, not London. And anyway, no you're not. I'm not having you abandoning me so you can go and be with your friends."

"I'm not _going_ to see friends."

"Why you going then? Pussycat off to see the Queen?"

"It's about a job actually," he said before he could stop himself; anything to get that look off her face. It worked, too.

"A job?" she echoed, suddenly alarmed. "In London? Doing what?"

"Well..."

"Business?" she urged, as though 'business' was a job in its own right.

"No. Still journalism, just –" She started to roll her eyes before he could finish, so he raised his voice a little: "Just for a better magazine. One where people will actually read what I have to say. Not to mention one that gives you a wage you can actually live off."

"Why didn't you tell me this before? How long have you known about this?"

"I didn't want you to get your hopes up. Even now, it's not like anything's set in stone. Journalism never is, is it? But they liked what I showed them, and they said they'd like me to give them something else, if..." He gestured to the pile on his knees, "I can find something suitable."

She looked at him for a few moments. "I don't feel up to using those crutches yet, Remus. I won't be able to carry a thing."

In truth, she didn't seem too bothered really. At any rate, her reaction was totally different to his father's. Once she allowed the disappointment at him going for yet another magazine to sink in, she was more than excited about the possibility – or, in her mind, the certainty – of him working in a place like London, and definitely not interested in making him stay in his hometown.

She even, once he'd decided that he was going to give the Bath review after all (if they didn't want it then that was that, but he was set on not writing about Blue Stag again without even telling them), turned off the television and read quietly so that he could finish writing it.

Granted, she did complain a bit the next day as he pulled his jacket on to walk to the train station, but it was nothing insufferable.

"What if I fall?"

"Then you call Dad. I told Mrs Flook next door that I won't be here, she's going to check in on you at lunchtime."

"Oh, I wish you hadn't, Remus!" His mother swatted at him from her place on the sofa. "I can't stand the old bat."

But she let him go once he assured her that he would, at some point, be back.

Then he set off to the train station in the cold crisp day, messenger bag on his shoulder and a renewed sense of determination. He was going a little earlier than was perhaps necessary, in order to catch the ten o'clock train; his second idea, besides trying to get a better job, was to surprise Sirius.

Of course, there was no guarantee Sirius would be in (he was a busy person, after all) but it was Wednesday morning, and if he was going to London anyway it wasn't the end of the world if Sirius wasn't at home.

His mind changed slightly when he got off the train at Camden Road Station and he had to figure out where exactly it was that Sirius lived. Signs managed to direct him to Kentish Town, but once he was in the area itself all of the streets seemed to look the same: narrow, winding cobbled lanes full of quiet town houses, the only differentiation seeming to be the colour of the doors and the names on the street signs.

Remus remembered the name of Sirius's street, but it wasn't much help when he didn't have a map or a particularly good sense of direction. Where he came from was so small he'd never really had to gain any navigation skills.

But find it he did – eventually – and when he spotted Sirius's car down the street, and looked up to confirm he was indeed standing in Kelso Place, he almost wept with relief. He'd been on the verge of giving up since, despite the chilly weather, the amount of walking he'd done had left him all hot and sticky, the strap of his bag digging into his shoulder uncomfortably. He'd remembered to pick up the bike helmet on his way out too and, embarrassingly, even that was starting to make his arm ache. He probably looked a right sight but nevertheless, he went to the black front door anyway, the shiny golden number eight a welcome relief.

Before he could change his mind, he quickly pressed his finger against the icy metal of the doorbell and waited, hastily smoothing down his hair and then ruffling the fringe and unzipping his jacket to pull his shirt away from his damp skin, ready for when Sirius opened the door and laid eyes on him.

Except when the door did finally swing open – and it took so long to that Remus was on the brink of giving up in spite of his long and painstaking journey – it wasn't Sirius standing there at all.

It was Leo.


	14. Chapter 14

**Warnings:** None

* * *

><p>Remus blinked up at the tall figure looming over him. Leo was leaning lazily against the door frame, clad in nothing but a pair of bleached denim jeans open at the front. He was even taller than Remus remembered but his hair was as scruffy as ever, and he held a nectarine in his hand as he stood there, an expectant expression plastered on his face.<p>

Remus waited for him to speak first. Eventually Leo bit into the fruit and pointed at him.

"You're the kid from the tour," he observed through his mouthful.

There could have been any number of reasons why Leo was standing before Remus and not Sirius, even if he _was_naked from the waist up. The two of them might have gone out last night and Sirius had allowed Leo to stay over. The blond man might merely have decided to drop in that morning and found Sirius's home so extortionately overheated he felt the need to remove his clothing. Or perhaps the shirt had simply become stained and George was washing it for him while Leo paraded around in comfortable half-nudity.

But then Leo spoke again, and all of Remus's shaky theories finally collapsed altogether.

"I think he might still be in bed," he said with a little smirk and a nod towards the staircase behind him.

Remus felt like he'd been punched in the stomach - and then again for good measure. It didn't matter that Leo didn't explicitly say "I shagged Sirius Black". The smug tone of voice, the sly glance behind himself, made it obvious enough.

"Well it doesn't matter," Remus managed to croak. "I just wanted to give him this."

He shoved the helmet out towards Leo who took it with his free hand, peering at it.

"Ah yes," he said, as though _he_were familiar with it too, "I'll be sure to let him know."

But then heavy footsteps sounded from the floor above, and Leo peered upwards as the landing floorboards creaked and Sirius himself shot down the stairs.

"_Leo_," came the sleepy snap when he was only halfway down, and Remus grimaced, already backing away. "Leo, how many times do I have to tell you not to answer the fucking door?" He was at Leo's shoulder now, at least a head shorter than him. He was in similar attire too, barefoot and bare-chested with black jeans so rumpled it was obvious he'd just now pulled them on.

"It could be anyone..." Sirius's voice trailed off when he turned and saw that "anyone" was Remus.

The 'R' was immediately visible on his lips, but Sirius never finished saying Remus's name. He opted instead for a forced, "Alright?"

When neither he nor Remus continued to speak, Leo held the helmet out to Sirius, chewing noisily. "A gift for you," he said.

Sirius kept his eyes on Remus for a few extra seconds, before slowly turning and taking the helmet from Leo, pressing it to his chest. "I didn't know you were coming," he said carefully, "you should have phoned."

_Why, so you could get rid of Leo in time?_Remus thought, but didn't say. He shrugged instead, trying to pretend he wasn't at all bothered by the unexpected visitor.

"It's not like I'm staying. I was in London anyway and I thought you might want that back." He motioned towards the helmet with his head and Sirius gripped it a little tighter. "Anyway," Remus continued when Sirius didn't speak, "I'd better go -"

"This isn't what it looks like," Sirius blurted out.

There was a pause as Remus allowed the age-old cliché to sink in. He blinked as they stared at each other, trying to decide on a response. "Oh... what do you think it looks like?"

Before Sirius could answer, Leo was pitching in: "Why lie to him?" He sounded genuinely curious rather than annoyed. Sirius's head turned abruptly to look at him, nervous features already twisted into a glare.

"Can you go away?" he snapped.

"Let him stay," Remus said before he could stop himself. "I mean..." He gave a little huff of laughter. "You're obviously not in the mood to tell the truth."

Sirius actually looked quite surprised at this. It was as though he'd never expected Remus to have the guts to speak to him like that. Apparently the shock of finding Sirius already with a new play-thing gave Remus sufficient confidence to not just stand there and gawp.

However, the anxious expression Remus was currently faced with also helped towards a confidence boost; it was only Sirius's brash boldness that ever seemed to intimidate Remus. Sirius's nervousness, on the other hand, appeared to have the opposite effect.

Leo was already doing as he'd been asked, turning to walk away with a roll of his eyes. The muscles in his back flexed as he walked, and Remus felt another sharp pang of envy stab at him as he watched.

"Come inside," Sirius said finally, voice strained.

"No, thanks."

"Don't be awkward. Come on."

"Sirius. It's fine, I get it." Even though he didn't. "I have to go. Really." He turned to leave, and Sirius let the helmet drop to the floor with a crack as he reached out to grab him and haul him back.

"You don't get it. Let me explain." The grey eyes were wide and pleading, bloodshot as though he'd had a rough night. Or a drunken night. Or a long night. Probably a combination of the three, Remus thought bitterly.

"I'm not sure I want you to explain. Can you please let go of me?" He tried to keep his tone as reasonable as possible, but when he went to move his arm Sirius gripped even harder, eyes flashing so dangerously that for a moment Remus did stop, alarmed.

"Just let me _explain_," Sirius growled.

Remus swallowed. They looked at each other for what seemed like a very. very long time. "Okay," he said eventually, and Sirius blinked, apparently surprised by the acceptance.

He let go of Remus, bringing his hands up to run along his own arms as though registering the cold air on his bare skin for the first time.

"I... Leo came over last night. I was on my own and - I didn't ask him to," he said quickly. "We had a few drinks." He paused, scratched the back of his head, avoided Remus's gaze. "I didn't _plan_anything."

"Oh, so you did sleep with him then."

"Remus..."

"I thought you didn't cheat?"

Sirius looked up at him, eyebrows raised, arms wrapped around himself as a shield from the chill breeze. "I didn't... I didn't think you and me were..."

Suddenly embarrassed, Remus huffed. He felt his cheeks start to heat up and he stepped back a little so that his face was more exposed to the cool air.

"You're right," he said shakily. "God, I'm so stupid. What could possibly have possessed me to believe we were anything more than friends?"

Sirius stepped towards him with a little noise of protest, letting his arms fall back down to his sides. "I didn't mean it like that -"

"Maybe - maybe it's just a culture thing," Remus went on, "because you know... where I'm from, when you act like you like someone, it's because you like someone. Whereas here, it's because you want to get off, right?"

"No!"

"You know, I'm really sorry I couldn't spend the week with you." His suddenly rather firm tone of voice surprised both himself and Sirius, but he went on before the other man could interrupt; "I really wanted to, but some of us have real life to deal with. Obviously after five years of being rich and famous you've become ignorant to that fact, just like..." His voice started to weaken and he swallowed again, hard. "Just like you've become ignorant to anyone's feelings but your own."

"Don't say that," Sirius said weakly. All of the anger had vanished from his face. He looked desperate, pleading, but also like he had absolutely nothing to say in his defence. And why would he? Remus had arrived so abruptly Sirius clearly hadn't been given enough time to think up a good story.

"And you know, I'm really sorry if I'm not... not _cool_enough for you."

Remus's voice cracked on 'cool', but it didn't matter; now that it was Sirius who was the defenceless one he suddenly found a hundred things he'd been wanting to say all bubbling to the surface at once. Now that he'd started speaking he didn't seem able to shut up.

"I don't live in the city, and I don't have an interesting job, and I - I don't know how to take tequila shots. And no, I've never slept with a bloke. I'm really sorry if I'm just not _experienced_enough for you."

He'd stepped closer without realising, so that now he and Sirius were almost touching.

"But most of all," he said, able to see his own breath dancing between the two of them in the cold air, "I'm sorry that I was actually... _stupid_enough to believe that none of that would matter, and that you actually might give a damn about me. You know..." He smiled a little sadly. "Like I gave a damn about you."

The whole time he'd been speaking, Sirius didn't even have the spine to look him in the eye. Now their gazes met, Sirius's head snapping up at the last few words.

"I do care about you!"

"Perhaps when it suits you. When you're upset, when you're bored, when there's no one better on offer to..." Remus waved his arm helplessly, searching for the words. "Fuck around with -"

"That isn't true!"

"Isn't it? Because if I remember rightly, when I was on tour with you, it was _him_you shagged." He pointed his finger past Sirius's head in the direction of the kitchen where Leo had disappeared to. "And when I was out with you the other week, it was some scrawny little teenager you took home."

Sirius lowered his eyes again.

"But when we're at _my_house," said Remus, starting to get a little breathless, "and you know no one in an 'unaffected' place like Gloucester is gonna give you attention, you try it on with me."

"I _always_wanted you. I didn't know if you were queer, did I? I didn't know if you wanted me -"

"You never asked!" Remus exclaimed. A small, bitter laugh escaped his throat and he continued more quietly, "You never do, do you? You just do whatever you feel like. Maybe your little entourage are alright with that because you're famous and they all think you're bloody wonderful. But you were right with what you said the other day: none of this _does_impress me. So I'm not just going to hang around while you make a fool out of me."

Feeling this to be an appropriate place to make his leave, he turned ons his heel. He knew, though, that a part of him still wanted Sirius to make a big deal out of things, to say something, even to try and make something up. Anything to show that he was bothered.

And Sirius did speak, but it was after quite a long delay, and it was only to beg, to give a rushed, "Don't leave me!"

Remus stopped, already halfway down the garden path. His shoulders hunched slightl, fingers curling. He was sort of pleased in a way - an ugly, bittersweet feeling - because Sirius had just made everything ten times easier. Without even turning around, without even raising his voice to make sure Sirius heard, he said, "I'm not falling for that one again."

"Remus," Sirius called after him. "Oh for Chri - _Remus_!"

Despite his calling, Sirius didn't actually follow hiim, and by the time Remus was halfway down the street he heard, with a flinch, the front door slam shut. Determined to keep walking, his bag thumped against his legs as he stomped down the street, head down, fuming.

It was only a few short moments before he heard the distant sound of the front door opening and closing again, followed by heavy, booted footsteps behind him. He didn't turn around. He didn't want to listen to Sirius. He didn't want to even look at Sirius right now -

"Oi."

Leo again, not Sirius.

He stopped, stood up straight, but only actually turned around a couple of seconds later. Even then he refused to look at the man's face.

"Remus, right? I just called a cab," Leo said, a little breathless from catching up. He motioned behind himself with a thumb. "Want to share?"

Remus stared at him, then scoffed in disbelief and turned to walk away again, hands deep in his pockets.

"He does fancy you," Leo tried again. His voice was gruff as though he were really going out of his way in bothering to try and console Remus at all. Remus stopped once more. This time he didn't turn around.

"A lot," Leo went on, apparently taking the silence as an invitation to continue. "Took a lot of strength and booze last night for him to let me -"

Remus whirled around then, not wanting the man - groupie, roadie, whatever he was - to finish.

"I don't even know you," he snapped. "Why are you talking to me?"

Leo looked quite shocked at this, as though not able to believe the mousy little writer had a gob on him.

"Alright fine, fuck off then," he said, sounding a little flustered.

Remus didn't need any more encouragement than that. He turned away again, resuming his quick stomp up the long street and leaving Leo behind to wait for his taxi in the freezing air of the morning. It wasn't long before the man was just a tiny dot in the distance with a scruff of messy hair.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure exactly where he was going to. Running away hadn't really been on the agenda, after all. All he knew was that he wanted to be alone, in the quiet, preferably with a cup of strong tea to calm his nerves.<p>

He'd never been so bloody... _mad_. And he needed more than anything to find somewhere quiet to figure out why, exactly, he felt like this.

Another five minutes' walk took him to the heart of Kentish town with its small parade of shops set beneath pretty, Victorian town houses. The wintery charm of the place might have pleased Remus in any other situation, but he barely registered the street's strange beauty as he burst through the door of the first cafe he found. It was a little round-table, red-checked-tablecloth sort of place, totally empty bar one young woman reading a creased paperback in the far corner. He quickly grabbed a window seat and dumped his bag down on to the chair opposite, slumping into the padded bench with a sigh.

Closing his eyes, he reached up to pinch hard at his forehead, exhaling slowly, and when he heard a voice beside him he jumped in surprise. A pretty, round-faced waitress was peering at him with kind eyes.

"Anything I can get you, my love?" she asked.

For a moment he forgot that people were supposed to order something in this kind of establishment and he floundered a bit as he tried to remember what he'd come in for.

"Er, just tea. Please."

When she'd gone, Remus made another little disgruntled noise, staring straight ahead at the laminated menu and chintzy salt and pepper shakers. He gnawed on his bottom lip, unable to shake from his mind the image of Sirius's defeated expression as he didn't even attempt to make up an excuse to justify his actions. As though Remus's hurt feelings meant fuck all to him.

But then, why would they? Clearly Sirius Black had no concern for anyone else. Clearly he didn't see a problem with crying to someone one night, making a _connection_with them, and then going and shagging some other bloke - some other bloke he'd never even shown any signs that he cared about - as soon as the initial 'someone' was out of the picture for a few days.

That wasn't normal behaviour, was it? Or was Remus just, as he sort of feared, being over-dramatic? Too sensitive? Wasn't this how rock stars were supposed to act, after all?

But Sirius had seemed so sincere that rainy evening - _that's why I like you so much, I never pour my heart out to anyone like I do to you, stay with me, forever if you like_- and now Remus felt like a complete fool. He was angry with Sirius for lying to him, but most of all he was angry with himself for allowing such ridiculous thoughts of the musician actually liking him to enter his mind.

His tea arrived and he stirred in one, two, three sugars. He'd always maintained that hot, sugary tea could cure anything, even tea as thin and grimy-looking as this. For a while he sat and drank and mulled things over in his mind. He tried to make himself forget about Sirius, focusing instead on what he was going to say to Alice when he saw her later on, and how exactly he was going to find the offices, but the insufferable bassist kept bubbling back to the forefront of his mind until he was not only frustrated at the situation itself, but frustrated that he couldn't keep himself from thinking about it.

There was one thing in particular that really niggled at Remus: it was alright for Sirius to treat him like the naïve fool he was, something to be messed around with, taken advantage of and then cast away, because Sirius _liked_sex. Sirius liked sex a bit too bloody much, apparently.

But Remus? He'd only just about managed to snog another bloke before he met Sirius, and even then it had been the worst couple of snogs in the history of all that was wet and slimy. Being with another man might not have been a Big Deal for Sirius Black, but it was a Bloody Big Deal for Remus Lupin, and Sirius didn't even seem to acknowledge that. He was clearly incapable of putting himself in anyone else's situation, if only for a few moments.

The more Remus thought about it, the angrier he grew. All the bollocks Sirius had spouted, the bollocks Remus had believed, all for the sake of a wank. He could have just asked for one, but then, Sirius clearly thought inexperienced country boys like Remus required desperate measures.

And Remus had actually felt _sorry_for him! That was the worst part. He was so gullible. How could he ever expect to be taken seriously as a journalist in London if he couldn't even tell when a celebrity was lying right to his face?

Without even pausing to think about it, he did the only thing he could ever think to do when he was angry, the only thing he had ever been any good at anyway: he picked up his bag, pulled out his notebook, and started to write.

He wrote down everything. His inky black pen sped across the narrow lined pages in messy scribbles, fervent but still legible, desperate to get everything down, barely pausing for one moment; anything to get it all out of his bloody head.

A pen and paper had always been his outlet, and now more than ever he was proving that. He started with the messed-up dynamics within the band, his writing and choice of vocabulary a little shaky at first. Once he got on to the huge closet case that was Sirius Black, he got into the swing of things.

He wrote about the parties, the drugs, the groupies, the pathetic friends-with-benefits system, Sirius's favourite tacky haunts for furtive shags - Camden Palace top of the list - all of the things Moody had forbidden in Remus's initial contract; then on to the dwindling coverage, the lack of publicity all thanks to Sirius and his 'shameful secret', the fact that the music industry was a _business_ and the band were surely going to fail if they carried on trying to be so utterly ridiculous and secretive, because really, honestly, who even _cared_if there was a queer in Blue Stag? If the band seriously thought that was a problem then obviously, Remus scrawled in the last line, they didn't understand the meaning of rock 'n roll.

Then with something close to a sigh of satisfaction, he dropped the pen and leaned back in his seat, cracking his sore, ink-stained fingers. It was only when he noticed the waitress nearby, cleaning tables and giving him an odd look, that he realised how strange he must have appeared.

"Shopping list," he explained hurriedly, swiping the pages up from the table in case she came to inspect them.

He shuffled them around in his lap a bit. He definitely felt better, so it had had the desired effect, but when he read the words over he cringed. There was no need, he thought, to have been quite so nasty, and with a huff he opened his bag and shoved the papers inside, resolving to shred them as soon as he got the chance, as he did all his little rants. There was no need to keep them once they'd done their job.

Having said that, it took another two cups of tea before he felt well enough to brave the city of London.

* * *

><p>The building where <em>Preacher<em>'s offices were held was actually reasonably simple to find, given how much trouble Remus had had locating Sirius's house. The building was a huge glass thing near Regent's Park, the bottom half dedicated to _Preacher_and the top - if Remus remembered Alice's words correctly - to a guitar magazine, the name of which escaped him at that moment.

It was a bit different from _Soundscape_'s head office. Just a tad.

Unfortunately, his current misery didn't allow him to fully enjoy the experience as he stepped through the swish, rotating doors, fresh off the packed red bus by which he had travelled.

It was a bit less simple once he was actually inside. All he saw was marble flooring, escalators and bustling people, all of them walking around looking very important with briefcases and even a couple with those big mobile phones that were all the rage amongst the rich at the moment.

Remus didn't understand why there was such an air of business about the place. It was only a magazine headquarters, not a courtroom or something. Maybe _Preacher_was even more prolific than he'd initially realised, and the thought sent a little shiver of nerves up his spine. This was a lot different to talking to Alice over lunch.

For a few minutes he wandered around aimlessly, looking for some sort of sign. There didn't seem to be any indication as to where he should go, and he was torn between asking the burly security guard at the door for help and simply complaining about the poor layout out loud. Currently he was edging towards the latter of the two options, since he was still angry and felt as though he could easily be pushed back into fight mode, even after having written the scrap article.

But then, as he stood there dumbly, someone decided to interrupt his thuoughts by walking smack bang into him.

"Bloody hell!" he spluttered, lurching forwards and only just managing to stay on his feet.

"Sorry, sorry," came a rushed voice, as though they weren't sorry at all. Remus blinked, and swiftly turned around.

James Potter was standing behind him, looking just as flustered and lost. Upon seeing Remus however, his look of confusion dissolved into one of surprise.

"Remus!" he said, nudging the thick-framed glasses he wore off-stage back up his nose. "What are you doing here?" Then he apparently registered that they were in the building where two magazine head offices were situated. "Stupid question. Is Sirius with you?"

At the mention of his name, Remus flinched. "No, he is not," he said, a little more snippily than he'd intended. James noticed.

"Alright, alright, apologies for breathing."

"Why do you care anyway? I thought you two had a fight?"

His sharp tone made James's eyes widen even further behind his thick lenses. "Christ, when did you grow a gob? And yeah we did, but I spoke to him yesterday. We're... fine now." He gave Remus a pointed look. "You're obviously not though. What's happened?"

Remus would have wondered why James was even bothering to ask, had it not been for the anxious expression in the frontman's eyes. Clearly he was just terrified something had happened that was going to affect his 'image'. God, he and Sirius were both just as self-centred as each other.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" said Remus, hoisting his bag strap back up on to his shoulder. "I'd leave it an hour or two though. He's probably still with _Leo_."

James winced and shook his head. "You're joking. Fuck." He ran a hand through his already-dishevelled hair, then dropped it to his side, turning back to Remus with an expression of disbelief. "Leo? Really?"

He looked even more upset than Remus had been, and for a moment Remus dropped the moody demeanour.

"What is it?" he asked.

James didn't answer for a while. He looked deep in thought and disappointed and genuinely puzzled. Remus was surprised when the guitarist's next words were, "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No..." he said slowly, adjusting the strap of his bag.

"Look, I've got to do an interview for this _Bridge_rag. Stick around when you're done doing whatever, okay? We'll get some food or something."

Remus stared at him. "Why?"

For once, James looked at him with something other than contempt, in fact with something almost close to concern. "Because I want to talk to you."

"I wasn't exactly planning on staying -" Remus started to say, but then out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of purple. When he turned he spotted Alice striding across the marble floor towards a row of gold-fronted lifts. "Alice!" He started after her, James in tow.

She whirled around at the sound of her name being spoken, looking somewhat flustered. "Oh! Remus," she said breathlessly when she saw him. "You're here."

"I was going to come later, but -"

"No, no, it's alright." Her eyes darted to the lifts. "It's just I'm in a bit of a rush at the moment. Could you wait by..." She trailed off as her eyes set on James with a gasp. "You're James Potter! Remus, you brought James Potter?"

"No," James said quickly, "I'm doing an interview upstairs, I'm just a bit lost. Do you work here? Can you tell me where to go?"

Alice still looked a bit shocked to see him, but when his words sunk in her expression switched to one of disappointment.

"Take one of the lifts to the fourth floor. Someone up there will direct you," she explained, and James thanked her with another clap to Remus's shoulder.

"Seriously. I'll be done in less than an hour. Wait down here." He bolted off towards the lifts before Remus could protest.

"That was a coincidence!" said Alice, turning back to Remus. "Have you got something for us?"

"Yes."

She looked torn between telling him to wait while she did whatever she was clearly in a hurry to do, and seeing to him now.

"Alright, come with me, but we can't be long. I've a meeting in ten minutes. You'll just need to sign something."

She tugged his sleeve and he followed her as she sped across to the lifts, taking him up to the second floor and dragging him over to a large, open office space, all neon-coloured dividers and papers flying everywhere and computers. Actual computers, beeping and flashing away like little robots.

Alice strode over to what was presumably her desk - adorned with coloured sticky notes and photographs - and asked for his work.

Seeing that she was flustered and short on time, Remus hastily dug into his bag and produced the article with a flourish. She took it from him and turned to shove it into a large drawer full of similar looking papers.

"I'll have a look when the meeting's over and then pass it on to Will, but I'm sure everything will be fine. You just need to..." She held a finger up to indicate that he should wait, before darting off through a heavy swinging door nearby.

Remus leant back against the desk, hands in his pockets, and gazed around at the expensive surroundings while she was gone. It was an incredible place. They had an amazing view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling tinted windows, and there was even more than one photocopier - and none of them seemed broken.

Best of all, no one was looking at him weirdly. It was as though he actually belonged here. Or, well, as though they saw people like him every day. Either way was fine.

Alice returned a minute later with a clutch of papers and a bright purple pen which she clicked at him with a smile. "You need to sign this," she said, laying it flat on her desk.

"What is it?"

"It's just a mini contract. Nothing permanent, just confirming that we can publish the first review and whatever we've got now." She nudged him good-naturedly in the ribs. "If it proves, of course, publishable."

He smiled back at her and leant to sign in the two places her long lilac fingernail had pointed to.

"Excellent!" She swiped the papers up from the desk and laid them to one side in a tall pink paper tray. "Alright, well that's that. I'll get on to it as soon as I get back from this meeting. Don't suppose there's much point you coming back today. Will you be in town tomorrow? Same time-ish?"

"I..." He hadn't planned on it. "I suppose I can be." That would be another tenner train fare. Bloody Sirius. If he hadn't ruined everything Remus could have stayed with him.

"Great, that's great," Alice smiled. "I must dash. You can find your way back down, can't you? Say hello to James for me! He's welcome to come for an interview any time, tell him."

As she rushed off, it was then that Remus realised that Alice was less like a journalist and more like a PA - presumably for this Will Kweller bloke. Meetings? Contracts? Invitation to interviews? What happened to interviewing the Dark Lords and complaining about how rude they were?

Not that it mattered. Alice was doing him a favour after all. Still, it was odd.

He did easily find his way back to the foyer, and he seriously considered simply leaving before James arrived back down. But he did find himself genuinely intrigued as to what that man might have to say. He'd never shown any real liking towards Remus, so it was strange that he'd suddenly have the desire to speak with him now.

To the left of the foyer was a long row of plush-looking chairs, so without much further thought Remus dropped down into one with a heavy sigh, resting his head back against the wall and peering up at the large chandeliers adorning the ceiling.

It was ages before James returned. At least four different people sat down next to him in the time it took, each one of them attempting to engage him in some sort of conversation. It was definitely more than an hour before the singer appeared, and even then he took his time striding across the foyer towards the slumped, bored-looking form that was Remus.

"You did wait," he stated. "I was worried you'd bugger off."

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Well, I'm sort of hungry. I thought we could discuss it over lunch. There's this great caff a couple of streets off -"

"Why can't you just tell me here?"

James gave a frustrated grunt, dropping the cheerful exterior and flopping down into the empty seat beside Remus. "It's about Sirius, and I don't really want to speak about it in a building full of journalists."

Remus didn't particularly want to talk about Sirius, but he still somehow found himself following James out of the building, albeit reluctantly, and around the a couple of blocks towards the apparently great cafe.

It was actually a really weird cafe once they arrived, with Georgian-style wallpaper alongside a hideously expensive Chinese menu. He sat at one of the glass-topped tables across from James and looked at him warily. Practically every conversation they'd ever shared had been brimming with awkwardness, so why would this be any different?

"Are you ordering?" asked James, plucking a menu out of the silver holder on the table.

"Er, no."

"The scallops are really excellent."

"James," Remus said gently, "what did you want to speak to me about?"

James sighed and replaced the menu, crossing his right hand over the left, then swapping them. He looked exactly like he did on the first day Remus had met him, in the bar of the Mayfair, uncharacteristically nervous about having to speak.

"I suppose it's something I've been avoiding. I think I thought it would just go away."

"Thought _what_would go away?"

James looked at him for a long time. "Tell me what happened with Sirius," he said finally.

"Nothing happened with Sirius."

"Obviously something did, you said so yourself. I spoke to him yesterday, I know he..." James licked his lips and settled back in his seat. "I know you've been seeing a bit of each other and you've..." He hesitated. "Slept together?"

"No!" Remus said quickly. "I mean we..." He coughed, not exactly wanting to talk about it to James of all people. "We did _stuff_but not that," he finished in a rush.

His cheeks reddened considerably as he spoke, but at least James looked as awkward about it as he did. It wasn't quite the same as making a fool of himself under Sirius's penetrating gaze.

"Right, and you... you like him, don't you? I mean, you fancy him."

Remus shrugged. He'd been fairly certain that he had reached that point, but what did that matter now? Sirius had made his preferences clear.

"I thought he wanted me," he said gruffly, "I know that much."

Across from him, James toyed with the laid-out cutlery, looking as though he were very carefully considering his next sentence.

Eventually he sighed.

"I knew he'd do the same to you as he did to Max," he murmured.

"Max?"

James waved a dismissive hand. "His first, you know. Boyfriend."

Remus almost snorted out how difficult it seemed for James to get the word out, as though it physically pained him.

"This lad he met in Crawley," James went on. "A nice lad. A lot like you."

He remembered. The night on the balcony, this boyfriend - this "Max" - had been the one Sirius had referred to, if only fleetingly. Remus hadn't given it much thought until now.

"Alright," he said, "what happened with Max?"

James shrugged. "We were touring. Sirius couldn't keep his hands to himself."

They looked at each other for a while, knowingly, and it was Remus who looked away first. Somehow seeing pity in James's eyes was even worse than finding scorn.

"I'm not going to pretend I was completely alright with him being bent at that point," said James, as though he still wasn't completely alright with him being bent now. "I mean, we would have been, what? Seventeen? Eighteen? We were young anyway, I know that. I was still getting used to it. And Christ, Sirius did not make it easy." He gave a little laugh and scratched at the back of his head. "I'd barely even kissed a bird when Sirius was doing all this mad stuff with all sorts of weird blokes he met at gigs and the like."

Remus cleared his throat a little, making the point that James really didn't have to go on about that particular topic if he didn't want to. Surprisingly, James took the hint.

"I told him it wasn't right," he said quickly, "what he was doing to Max. Queer or not, the guy didn't deserve that. He was a decent sort. Training to be an auditor, did Sirius tell you? _Away_a lot. I told him, Remus, I said if he insisted on practically prostituting himself the least he could was break up with Max first, but Sirius..."

He looked down and gave a little shake of his head.

"Sirius clings. Always has, ever since we were kids. He hates giving anything up, he's so _stubborn_. It got worse when his parents kicked him out, bastards that they were. Expect he told you about that."

Remus gave a little nod, and James nodded back looking bitter.

"They messed him up big-style. On the one hand, they spoiled him so bloody much he hasn't learned how to do anything for himself - I mean, he has a housekeeper for fuck's sake - but on the other they showed him no affection. Zero. They'd lock him in his room, never touch him, always put him down, even in front of me. I remember his mother always asking about my marks at school and saying how stupid Sirius was by comparison, even though he wasn't. It really affected him."

He looked at Remus sharply.

"Do you know what I mean?"

"I suppose," Remus mumbled back. He'd never really thought about the reasons behind Sirius's bad relationship with his parents. Sirius had said that they were "officious", that they'd kicked him out, and that was that. Remus had never bothered to question it, and he was already starting to feel a little bit awful for that.

"Some people would withdraw. I know I bloody well would. Sirius went the other way; he'd look for affection anywhere. I could always manage him though, at first. I was there for him. He did live with me after all. We'd talk."

He paused, looking down at the table as though replaying the events in his mind, trying to remember. Finally, he shrugged.

"It'd be enough," he said simply. "But then we started the band, of course, and Lily and me got together. I had other things to think about, you know? It wasn't that I forgot about him, God no. I still cared about him, he was my brother. But he stopped coming to me. Think he reckoned I'd abandoned him or something. Me telling him to break it off with Max sealed it, I suppose. He's never... quite forgiven me for that. I think he took it the wrong way. I think he thought I hated that he was queer, that I was having a go at his relationship, that I was ashamed of him or something. And no, I wasn't that alright with it back then, but more than that I just wanted him to do the right thing. And he did. Eventually."

"He said..." Remus began, but he found his voice dry and croaky and he had to clear his throat before trying again. "He said you made them break up for the sake of the band's image."

James looked a bit flustered at this. "I won't lie," he said a little awkwardly, "he's not completely wrong. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of him shacking up with another bloke while we were trying to make a name for ourselves. Who would be? Come on, you're a journalist, you understand."

Remus held his hands up, keeping out of it.

"He was always my main priority," James stressed, leaning across the table. "To me, he's always come before the band. But he's never quite _got_that. It's like, for all his confidence, his parents really did manage to make him believe he's worthless, that people are out to get him, yeah? That's what I reckon anyway. He's paranoid, really. Destructive. He probably thought you were never coming back."

"My mother - I _told_him -"

"I know, I know, but it's Sirius. When does he ever think things through? He's totally fickle, totally impulsive."

Remus, for all his previous fury towards Sirius, had to agree. There was little point denying the truth in James's words: Sirius was as impulsive as they came. Still, it didn't stop Remus from feeling at least a little bloody put out.

"He'd never intentionally hurt you," said James, apparently reading his mind. "He's mad about you, honestly. I suppose that's why I was such a bloody grouch with you two on tour. I could tell he was falling for you ages before you could. He followed you around, he'd talk to you for hours about fuck all, he was always trying to make you laugh... Sirius doesn't act like that, mate, with anyone. Not anymore, not since school. Did you ever see him talking to Leo?"

Remus automatically flinched at the mention of the name.

"No. All they did was shag," James stated bluntly. "That's the thing with Sirius. He can separate sex and emotions when most other people can't. And that's - that's why you have to understand. You've found him with Leo, but Leo means _nothing_to Sirius. I know it's hard not to feel fucking hurt by it, anyone would, but you have to understand it's still you he... wants."

"How do you know?" Remus scoffed.

"Because I know Sirius," James answered easily. "And, er, he might have mentioned it a few times," he added, ruining the heartfelt effect of his initial statement. "You can't abandon him, Remus. You have to let him explain and apologise and try again."

"Look, I know you mean well," said Remus, "and I know you're trying to help out your best mate. It's all very well for you to say all that, but I can't be with someone who'll go and shag some random bloke every time I turn my back for five minutes."

"You have to gain his trust. Let him know that you're there for him, that you'll actually damn well come back."

"You make him sound like a pet."

James said nothing, only offering Remus a little smile that wasn't returned.

"Why are you so set on me forgiving him?" Remus asked eventually.

The other man didn't answer for a long time. His long, rambling talk had left him a little unsettled and breathless - not surprising, considering he'd barely ever said two words to Remus before now - and now he seemed to be gathering himself as well as deciding on his next words.

"When I was sixteen," he began slowly, "I wanted Sirius in the band because he was my best mate in the world and because he's an incredible musician." He sighed. "Miles better than me and don't you dare tell anyone I told you that. But he needed to be in it for his own good too. He needed to be somewhere I could keep an eye on him. Do you think I don't know that Sirius wanted to go it alone? That he still does? Course I bloody know! But I needed to look after him, so I made him stay. Suppose I made out like it would be a bit of a betrayal if he didn't."

When he paused, Remus glanced around, confused.

"Okay, but... why is that - ?"

"We don't live together anymore. I've got Lily, I might want a family some day. I can't look after him all the time! I wish I could, but I can't, and I can't pretend I've been the best at it either. Sometimes he frustrates me so much I just want to..."

He curled his fingers up, almost into fists, but quickly released them with a sigh.

"He needs someone like you, Remus," he said gruffly. "Someone good and loyal who doesn't see him as a 'rock star', just sees him for the person he is, fucking flaws and all, and accepts him. He needs you or he'll just go back to how he was. Because trust me, he was a lot worse before he met you. He's toned it down recently. It's a fucking miracle he was never outed, honest to God."

As if on cue, a large crowd of tourists suddenly burst into the cafe, and after one quick glance James rested the side of his face on his hand, elbow on the table, and lowered his voice.

"I know I'm making it sound like a big responsibility but I know for you it wouldn't be. I can tell you care about him too."

Unthinkingly, Remus gave a slight nod.

"In fact," James went on, "this whole conversation proves how sure I am. You're a fucking journalist, and I really wouldn't be spouting all this if I thought you were just in this to sell him out. Don't get me wrong, it's bloody weird, mate, but that's how you seem to be. More interested in people's feelings than a story. He could really do with someone like you."

"I'm not sure about that," Remus muttered, but James didn't seem to hear him.

"Don't let one mistake fuck things up, alright? Sirius isn't perfect but he learns. And when he does, he's so loyal, I swear."

He sounded so sincere, but then again, Remus had talked to other people recently who he'd thought were being sincere when they weren't.

But if James was being sincere now, then maybe that meant Sirius had been sincere too, since James would have been telling the truth about Sirius's personality and inclinations? The thought was so irritatingly confusing that Remus had to physically shake his head, the man across from him giving him an odd look.

There was just one other thing that was getting at Remus, though. For all his talk - and presumably in his time as a celebrity, James Potter had had a lot of chance to get better at talking bollocks - James hadn't seemed to acknowledge one thing: he and Sirius had been friends for thirteen years, yet they were still having fights so intense that Sirius, a grown man, had been reduced to tears. If their own relationship was still damaged, in spite of all of their sequences of 'going back, apologising, and trying again', how long would it take before Remus and Sirius trusted one another? How long was it going to take Sirius to 'learn'?

He looked at James, and James was looking back so pleadingly that it unsettled Remus a little. Surely, he reasoned, a person wouldn't undergo such a drastic transformation over something that wasn't true.

James Potter had dragged him to an overpriced cafe and put aside ordering really excellent scallops in favour of retelling his and Sirius's story in the face of Remus's upset - James Potter, who had barely ever even managed a smile for Remus before now. Would he have bothered if there were no truth to what he was saying at all?

"Alright," Remus said finally, having to raise his voice to be heard over the din in the room that had seemed to increase tenfold in the last couple of minutes. "I'll - I'll phone him or something."

"No," James said firmly. "Go to his house now. Don't leave it any longer."


	15. Chapter 15

**Warnings:** Sexual content

**A/N: **So! This is the last chapter (followed by an epilogue) and yeah, this story has taken longer than I expected but I've enjoyed writing it and I've really enjoyed reading the feedback. It was really encouraging. So thank you to everyone who commented or favourited or just anyone who read it. As long as you liked it I'm happy

* * *

><p>Remus pressed a finger to the doorbell and waited, nervous and tense, palms already sweating in the cold mid-afternoon air. It was only a few seconds before the door opened and George was standing before him.<p>

"Hello, Remus," he said, not sounding at all surprised. He was dressed in an expensive, heavy-looking coat. "I was just about to go to the supermarket."

"May I come in?"

George immediately stood back to allow him into the hallway. "He's upstairs," he said, before stepping out into the chilly air and closing the door behind him.

The hallway was suddenly very dark and quiet, apart from a loud ticking noise and the faint sound of music coming from above. He glanced up the shadowy stairwell, realised with a gulp that he was about to face the infamously hot-headed Sirius Black and apparently forgetting that prior to all this, they had been friends. It was like meeting him for the first time all over again.

A voice in his head told him Sirius was going to react badly but Remus was here now. He might as well see what happened before he left for home. He didn't want to be angry at Sirius anymore. Gathering all of his courage, Remus took a deep breath and started to climb the stairs.

Upon reaching the first floor, he realised Sirius was in the attic; that was where the music was flowing from, loud enough for him to make out what it was now - Pink Floyd's 'Have a Cigar'.

Forcing himself to abandon all thoughts of turning back, Remus stepped on to the first stair and climbed up to the attic too.

The first thing that hit him was how thick the air was. When his eyes travelled across the room, he saw Sirius was lying on his back on one of the couches, lounging, smoking, and he hadn't opened the window. The record was only on low, and Sirius must have heard him come up but he didn't react.

Remus approached him cautiously. After a while, when neither of them spoke, he perched on the arm of the couch, hands in his pockets.

"I always kind of preferred _Dark Side of the Moon_," he said eventually. His voice cut messily through the thick atmosphere, strained with nerves. "Better lyrics, I think, more edge -"

"I don't have it."

Looking down, Remus gave a little nod. "I know. Your mother snapped it."

Sirius lifted the cigarette to his lips, a slight furrow in his brow, and gave a short scoff around it. "You remember stupid things," he muttered, echoing Remus's words from a week ago.

"I remember everything you tell me," Remus replied, playing along. He attempted a little smile. "But there was a lot I didn't ask about."

For the first time since Remus had arrived, Sirius looked at him. He ran the end of the cigarette along his bottom lip absent-mindedly. He looked rough.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, but that was all.

Sensing he wasn't going to be assaulted if he moved closer, Remus carefully slid from the arm to the seat of the sofa, perched so that the other man's legs could still lay stretched out behind him.

"No, I am," he said. "I shouldn't have shouted at you like that without knowing the whole story. But then, I'm a journalist. We like to jump to the wrong conclusions, don't we?"

Sirius didn't smile. "But you didn't."

"Not about why Leo was here, maybe. He made that pretty obvious himself."

Exhaling slowly, Sirius closed his eyes.

"But I assumed you'd been lying to me the other night," Remus continued. "That you'd sort of... used me."

Sirius remained silent for the next few moments, watching Remus with half-lidded eyes, expression giving nothing away. His cigarette burned steadily, neglected. Then he sat up abruptly. He stubbed the fag out in the ashtray by his feet and looked at Remus.

"I wouldn't," he said earnestly. "I wouldn't do that. Not to you. You really helped me, honestly. Just by being there, you helped me."

Without even thinking about it, Remus placed a quick hand on Sirius's. "It's okay, it's fine. You don't have to explain." He licked his lips, running a tentative thumb across the sharp jutting bone of Sirius's wrist, and Sirius didn't pull away. "I spoke to James, you see."

"James," Sirius repeated, lips barely moving. He swallowed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes; fear perhaps. "What did you speak to James about?"

"You." Remus hesitated. "Max."

At the mention of the name, Sirius's head snapped up.

"Max." He was almost sneering, as though that was the last name he'd wanted to hear. "What did he have to say about Max?"

"It was..." Remus stopped and shook his head, looking away. He didn't want to make Sirius angry or start another argument. But Sirius nudged him with his fingers, hard, willing him to go on, and Remus sighed."He told me about what happened between you. Not to spite you, but to make me understand. I'm not judging you -"

"He told you everything?"

"I think so."

Sirius's eyes bore into him, a gaze far too intense to keep Remus comfortable. But then the look switched for one of desperation as Sirius suddenly blurted out, "It's just _hard_. I cared about him, I did, but..." He shrugged helplessly. "I never saw him and... it's just hard when someone's offering you the chance to not _be alone_, even if it's only for a little while and - and I know that doesn't justify fucking around, but sometimes that's all people have to offer." He chanced a look into Remus's eyes before quickly darting his gaze away again. "Sometimes that's all people want."

"I know. I _didn't _know but I was thinking about things in my terms. I've only known you a few months. It's not fair for me to judge you based on that, when I didn't really know anything about you."

"Even so," Sirius muttered, "I'm sorry for what I did to you."

"I overreacted."

"No. You were there when I needed you, and then I went and did that to you. I just - I wasn't thinking properly. I thought you didn't want to stay with me."

Remus looked at him sadly. "I'm really new to all this," he said quietly. "I don't really know what I'm doing but I... I don't plan on leaving you until you tell me to go. I wouldn't do that to you."

In the background, the zany guitar solo of 'Have a Cigar' faded out and the opening chords to 'Wish You Were Here' sounded. Remus shivered slightly as the chords reverberated around the lofty room and it was with a forced smile that he spoke again: "Remember... remember that night on the bus?"

"Course," Sirius replied softly. "It was really warm. You didn't come up at first. I thought you didn't like me."

"Why would you think that?"

"You were always really quiet."

"I was nervous."

"Of me?"

"Of everything," said Remus. "Furthest I'd ever been before was I think Devon."

They were alone, but for some reason they kept their voices soft and hushed, and Remus found it relaxing, less threatening, so that he could be sure coming back to Sirius's house hadn't been a mistake.

"If it's any consolation," he added lightly, "I was least nervous around you."

For the first time, Sirius smiled, slow and genuine, and Remus couldn't help but mirror it.

"Who were you most nervous around then?" Sirius wanted to know.

"I - James. Except he's not as bad as I thought he was." Remus paused. "He cares about you a lot."

"I care about him," Sirius replied immediately.

Finally, their eyes met.

"And you," said Sirius. "I've really fucked things up, haven't I?"

"No."

"I have. I haven't given you any reason to trust me now and I so want you to. I've ruined everything."

"Well if you have," Remus said gently, "then I forgive you."

Sirius looked for all the world as though he'd never been forgiven for anything in his life. A strangely intimate expression tinged his eyes, almost childlike in its innocence. That thought promptly vanished from Remus's head however when Sirius leaned in, took hold of Remus's face in his hands, and kissed him in a way that was anything but innocent.

It took Remus a few seconds to react. He hadn't been expecting Sirius to kiss him but, what started as gentle quickly turned fervent. Sirius's heavy breaths were loud in his ears, his lips pressing firmly as though he was afraid Remus might push him away, and when they broke for air they were both panting, somehow, strangely, practically in one another's laps.

"Of course," Remus said breathlessly, running a hand through his hair, "I'm not blameless. I shouldn't have said you were ignorant. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said you were selfish."

Sirius kissed him again, hard, moving to take fistfuls of Remus's shirt.

"And -" Remus broke away as he was pushed back into the couch, not a word of protest leaving his lips. "Like I said, I overreacted, it's - it's not like we're in a relationship."

"I want to be," Sirius told him, so close their lips brushed again. "I've been a fucking bastard to you. I don't even know why I... I don't even know what made me think..." With a frustrated noise, he gave up on talking. He was kissing Remus again, and Remus couldn't think.

Finally relenting, he let his body relax and allowed Sirius to push him all of the way down. His fingers reached to scrunch in dark hair, lips parting to allow Sirius's tongue to lick into his mouth. His trembling fingers found the sharp jut of Sirius's cheekbones, nose breathing in the soapy scent of his skin...

"Wait, wait, I..." Remus pulled back abruptly. "I've got my shoes on your sofa."

Sirius stared, bewildered.

"What? It's not polite to have your shoes all over someone's fur -"

He was being kissed again before he could even finish his sentence. He toed his shoes off anyway, even as his arms wound around Sirius's neck to pull him closer, and when he shifted his feet up the couch, knees bending, their lower bodies came into forceful contact and Sirius gave a soft groan into his mouth.

Nerves fluttered in Remus's stomach, and yet his body leapt in automatic response and he eagerly arched up against Sirius. He hadn't come here with this intention, he wasn't sure if Sirius thought he had, but he let it happen anyway. It wasn't like he could protest, not with Sirius's hand skimming up the side of his leg, not with his warm fingers dipping and tracing beneath his waistband, and not with his palm pressing firmly against the front of his jeans, eliciting a soft moan from between Remus's lips.

Minutes passed before Sirius broke away to bury his head in the space between Remus's neck and the back of the couch, kissing and nibbling and speaking, in a low, husky voice, right into his ear.

"Do you know," he breathed, hands travelling across the expanse of Remus's chest now, long fingers slipping beneath the open jacket; "do you know what I liked first about you?"

"What?" Remus managed, shivering as Sirius pressed another kiss behind his ear, moving to nip gently at the lobe.

"Your accent," Sirius told him, breath hot in Remus's ear. "I love your accent. I love the way you talk, Remus."

The words surprised him, the unadulterated heat in Sirius's eyes making Remus's skin prickle with fresh goosebumps as their lips pressed together once more. He knew the normal Remus would question the situation. He knew the normal Remus would wonder if Sirius was just getting what he wanted. But in that moment, for once, Remus Lupin didn't care.

Sirius _had_fucked things up, but only briefly, and they'd apologised, and for once Remus was determined not to fret like some frigid bird. Because the choice was having Sirius's warm body flush against his, lips moving hotly against his own, fingers skimming over the obvious hardness between his legs, or pushing Sirius away in favour of further discussion.

Fuck it. They'd said they were sorry. If it didn't work, they'd do what James had said; they'd try again.

Now he was the one who sought Sirius's lips, holding him in place with a grasp as close to steady as he could manage. Desire stirred low in his body, heat spreading through him as Sirius's firm hands slid beneath his shirt, searching greedily, thumbs grazing his nipples, kneading gently at his ribcage, circling his belly button. Then the fingers were gone from beneath his t-shirt, travelling a heated path up to his neck, caressing his jaw, a pair of full lips moving in perfect rhythm with his own. David Gilmour continued to serenade them from the record player across the room. It was dizzying. If snogging to The Doors had been good, snogging to Pink Floyd was even better.

"Let me," Sirius murmured when they finally broke apart, "let me make it up to you."

Remus froze. He barely registered the warm pads of Sirius's thumbs making slow circles on his sides now, the hot ghost of breath across his ear.

"No, I - I can't," he garbled, "I've never - not _that _-"

"No," Sirius cut him off quietly, pressing another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Not that."

Remus hauled himself up on to his elbows, gulping, watching dazedly as Sirius slid back down the length of his body with practised ease.

"Sirius..."

Sirius hushed him gently. With one hand he pushed up Remus's shirt so that it was bunched around his middle, using the other to hold his thigh as he settled between his legs. He pressed three slow kisses, in a row, along Remus's exposed abdomen, causing him to squirm a little with anticipation. The knot in his stomach tightened.

Sweating slightly, Remus watched Sirius pull down his zipper and release the button with an expert flick of his thumb. As he tugged the jeans down, Sirius continued the passionate assault on his abdomen, licking down and across with hot flicks of his tongue, occasionally dipping into his belly button, making Remus's stomach twist pleasantly.

Then a mouth was on him, lips fluttering across the cotton of his boxers in agonisingly slow movements, and Remus would have set aside time to be embarrassed that he was practically trembling over the mere tease of Sirius's lips if he hadn't been so bloody turned on. Why was he even here in the first place? He was dimly aware of the answer, but any thoughts of this not being a good idea paled in comparison to the muddled concoctions of pleasure and disbelief he felt when Sirius finally pulled his boxers down and slowly took him into his mouth.

In the background, slewing from the record player, 'Shine On' had begun playing. The sinister, mystical opening of the half hour track completely clashed with what was going on between Remus's legs, and yet despite the sharpness of his senses - he was acutely aware of the wet, blissful heat of Sirius's mouth, the press of warm fingers against his hips, the hard arm of the couch behind his head, the music in his ears - he couldn't find it in himself to think the backing track anything but appropriate.

His hands reached to tangle in black hair as Sirius's tongue licked and lapped and teased, red, expert lips doing amazing things to him. Too amazing. The blood roared in Remus's head, his heart pounding furiously; the flicks of Sirius's tongue were almost too sharp to be enjoyable, and yet when he moved his mouth to focus on other areas, a ridiculous, soft keen of disappointment escaped Remus's lips. He felt the vibration of Sirius's laugh against him.

"Like that?" he murmured, hand now working in slow, measured movements as he nipped at the inside of Remus's thigh.

Remus's desire made him dumb, and he could only manage an incoherent _ngh _by way of response. He sensed the movement of Sirius's head and relished in the feel of hot breath on him once more. But then Sirius paused.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he said softly.

Closing his eyes, Remus finally managed to utter a word: "Don't."

"Why not?"

Because if Sirius didn't speak, Remus could forget that someone was watching him come undone.

"Because... don't."

Perhaps taking the words as impatience, Sirius laughed again and lowered his head. Little by little, he drew Remus in deeper, breathing hard through his nose, until Remus could feel himself against the back of his throat. Then he pulled back and repeated the same action, again, then again, and again, the liquid silk of his throat nudging Remus closer and closer to release until he was writhing beneath him, resisting with every strength of his being the urge to thrust.

"God," he breathed, and then because that didn't adequately express how he felt as Sirius squeezed him gently with lips and tongue, he swore. "_Fuck_. S-Sirius." He swallowed hard. "Feels good."

Sirius hummed low around him, the vibration startling a gasp from Remus's throat as the knot in his belly suddenly reached breaking point. His toes curled against the sofa beneath him, fingers grasping at Sirius's hair.

"God, I'm gonna - you need to -" The next word on his lips - _move _- was promptly forgotten, lost somewhere between his last utterance and the abrupt jerk of his body as he arched up, releasing with a guttural moan straight into Sirius's mouth, his mind clouded by white hot pleasure.

He shuddered against the sharp sensations, releasing a breath only when he slumped back down on to the couch. HIs body had surely turned to goo. Only now, as he regained control, did he realise what he'd done, and he found it almost as mortifying as when he'd tried to bite Sirius's lip off.

"Fuck," he groaned, feeling Sirius crawl back up his body. "I'm sorry."

"That's alright, you warned me," Sirius murmured, kissing his jaw. "I wanted to."

Sirius settled on top of him then, head on his chest. Remus's heart was still racing. He'd feel stupid if Sirius could feel how fast it was going.

"Do you forgive me then?"

"I'd already forgiven you," Remus told him. He tangled his fingers in Sirius's hair, enjoying the pleasant warmth against his chest as his heavy limbs continued to tingle.

"But this was better than words, right?"

"Yes," Remus agreed exhaustedly. "What about you?" He waited, expecting Sirius to sit up and begin unbuckling his own belt.

But he shook his head instead. "I wanted to do it for you," he murmured. A few moments passed before he continued, in a tone far too conversational for the moment, "I've never sucked someone off to Pink Floyd before."

Remus almost laughed, but he was suddenly too sleepy and too distracted by the implications. "I really needed to know that," he said.

Sirius didn't reply, choosing instead to nestle his head in the crook of Remus's neck and tap out the beat of the slow, nine-minute instrumental to 'Shine On' on his chest with gentle fingers.

Then Gilmour started singing again and Sirius, in that low, breathless voice of his, joined in.

"Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun," he whispered. His voice only sounded half of the notes. "Shine on, you crazy diamond."

Sighing contentedly, Remus's fingers went lax in the soft hair, lids growing heavy. It was difficult to remember now what they'd fought about in the first place, and even if that was only as a result of Sirius's talented mouth and a really amazing song, Remus couldn't, in that moment, find it in himself to care. His body was so warm, and Sirius's soft, hoarse voice lulled him gently.

"You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom, blown on the steel breeze."

Gradually, gradually, beat still tapped on his chest in a steady rhythm with long fingers, Sirius sang him to sleep.

"You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon," he breathed. "Shine on, you crazy diamond."

* * *

><p>It was quiet when he woke. The window let in a grey, rainy sky. A soft blanket had been draped over him, and as he lay on his side, he felt firm arms around his waist. It took a while to remember where he was, the furniture beneath him hard and unrecognisable.<p>

About the same time that Remus registered he was still in the attic however, and that Sirius was behind him, sleeping, a loud tapping noise came from above and a sudden flutter of birds took off from the roof, the clatter reverberating around the attic.

He felt Sirius shift and inhale sharply as he awoke, and Remus almost twisted round to look at him, just to check there would be no expression of surprise or, worse, regret on his face.

"Remus?" Sirius muttered, voice made even huskier with sleep. Tentatively, Remus placed his hand on top of the one Sirius had around his waist.

"Morning," he whispered. "What time is it?"

He felt Sirius shift behind him. "I don't know. Four? Five? It's early anyway."

"My whole right side is numb," Remus confessed.

"Sorry I didn't wake you last night. You seemed really peaceful. We could go to the bedroom if you want."

"No," said Remus, "let's stay here for a bit."

Truthfully, he didn't yet feel quite up to facing the reality of the day. Yesterday had been strange to say the least. He'd never expected to succumb to Sirius like that, and somehow it still felt as though everything that needed to be said hadn't been, that other things had got in the way of that. He didn't want to stand up and see Sirius's expression yet, not now the heat of the moment was over.

"I'm glad you came back," Sirius said eventually. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"I think you knew I'd come back, Sirius."

Sirius paused. "Maybe if you'd done it a few months ago. I didn't know you had a temper on you." It was difficult to tell if he was amused, surprised or bothered by this without seeing his expression.

"I don't. Usually." Remus gave a little scoff. "See the effect you have on me? Turn me into a right nutter."

Sirius laughed against his neck. Remus could feel his fingers in his hair. Then they stopped moving. "Were you really mad?"

Remus thought about it, playing absent-mindedly with the hand Sirius still had around his waist.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "I thought I was at the time, but I think now I just felt a bit stupid."

"Stupid?"

"I've never really met anyone like you."

"Like me?"

"Like different. I only really know farmers."

Sirius snorted.

"No, honest," Remus insisted. "Farmers and shopkeepers. Then you come along and you... make me excited about life. And at the same time, turn me into this shy, awkward... _idiot _who just..." Sirius was already laughing, and Remus couldn't help chuckling too. "Who just always says the wrong thing." He twisted a little so that he could just about see Sirius's face. "I think only you can get under my skin like that."

"I didn't mean to make you feel stupid," Sirius mumbled, lips brushing the back of Remus's neck as they settled down into the sofa again. "I didn't mean to do anything bad to you."

"Yeah," Remus whispered, "yeah, I know."

"Are we okay now, Remus?"

He didn't answer straight away. He couldn't exactly say no. Sirius had given him a fantastic blowjob, after all, and he seemed to recall both of them apologising profusely yesterday too. Not to mention James had already made an attempt at explaining away Sirius's actions, and while it was an explanation which Remus had accepted, he still couldn't help but feel slightly wary. James had made it sound as though he should be prepared for the whole thing to happen again.

Slowly, he turned beneath the blanket so that they were facing one another.

"I... like you," he said hesitantly, "and that makes things kind of difficult."

"Difficult?" Sirius sounded anxious.

A voice in Remus's head told him he should just stop now, stop ruining things, but what was the point? He'd already gone against his better judgement yesterday by allowing Sirius to win him over physically. He couldn't carry on thinking so unrealistically before they'd actually finished clearing the air.

"Well. On the one hand, I like you so I want to, I don't know, be with you? And on the other, I like you so I don't want to get hurt by you."

He suddenly felt fingers grasping his own as Sirius quickly found his hand beneath the covers.

"What if I promised to do everything I could to make sure I never hurt you again?" he said earnestly.

"Then you'd be wasting your promise on a very unsuitable person," Remus said before he could stop himself. Sirius looked confused. "I'm not like other people, Sirius. I can't give you what other blokes can."

"I know you're not like other people. That's why I like you."

Remus bit his lip. "It's all very well to say that now, when we're wrapped up in each other. But what about when I'm not here? What's a laugh and conversation next to..." He shrugged, avoiding Sirius's gaze. "Next to sex?"

"I don't need that, that isn't what it's about," Sirius said firmly. "When I don't want to be on my own, sex is usually a pretty good way of ensuring I'm not. It's not that I care about it, not... _that _much. I would never make you do anything you didn't want to. I just like being with you, Remus. And don't say you're unsuitable because... because you're the only person who makes me feel alright. Like I'm not going fucking mad."

"We haven't known each other that long," Remus mumbled.

"Long enough," Sirius said desperately. "You were fine yesterday, you said it was all fine."

"It _is _all fine, I just... don't know where to go from here."

Sirius pressed his fingers in a little harder, thumbs running beneath Remus's chin and along his jaw, grey eyes boring into him.

"Be with me," he said firmly. "I know I've fucked up. I'm - I'm sorry about Leo, I'm really sorry, and I know you know how I treated Max but that doesn't mean things can't be different, that I can't be different. I'm an absolute wanker, I'm a bastard and you don't deserve that so you won't _get _that. I swear."

Remus closed his eyes. When had life become so difficult? He'd never had to make decisions like this before. "It's not that simple, Sirius."

"Why not?"

Remus opened his eyes again. "Imagine me going back to Gloucester and telling everyone I was suddenly bent. That I'm going with some rock star. They'd have a fit!"

Sirius shrugged as thought it were obvious. "You don't need to go back there."

"I have a _family_, Sirius. I have a job and a life that's so completely different from yours." With every word he could see Sirius becoming more and more defeated, shrinking back against the side of the couch. "I'm not saying I wouldn't change all that, it'd just take some time. It wouldn't happen overnight, and I'm just afraid you wouldn't wait that long." _If you couldn't wait five days_, he added in his head.

"You don't trust me."

Remus hesitated. "Trust takes time."

"We could at least _try_, otherwise how will we know what'll happen? At least let me prove that I can keep a promise to you." Sirius swallowed, staring at him with eyes far too alert for the current hour. "First time for everything."

Finally, Remus smiled. "I seem to remember the last time you said that we ended up waking up on a sofa too."

It was a few moments before Sirius smiled back, and looking back on it later, Remus realised it was probably that which clinched it. That stupid, fantastic smile. It only seemed to have the ability to make him say and do ridiculous things when he was seeing it in person, drawing slowly across Sirius's face, rather than on the cover of some magazine. It was a talent, that smile, and it was that which made him pull his lower lip between his front teeth, suppress a second smile of his own, along with a little sigh. It was that smile which made him think to himself that he'd be an idiot, he'd be an idiot if he said no. And it made him open his mouth to say the words he knew Sirius wanted to hear and he also knew, deep down, in spite of everything, he wanted himself to say.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we should at least try."

Sirius gave a gentle laugh, tongue between his teeth. "I knew you'd say that," he grinned, closing the gap between them to press a kiss to Remus's lips. He looked confused when Remus pushed him away.

"I haven't brushed my teeth," he protested.

"I don't care." Sirius tried to kiss him again, but Remus pushed him back with a hand on his chest.

"_I _do," he laughed, but it was cut short by the pursing of his lips as he considered what he'd just said. "Sirius, you know this automatically doesn't make everything normal, right?"

Sirius was still pecking at his neck like a little bird. "Yes, yes."

"And you know I haven't been in any sort of relationship in a while."

"I'm aware."

"And you know things will take time."

"Remus." Sirius looked up at him, another gentle laugh falling from between his lips. "I know. We'll sort everything out."

Simple as that. _We'll sort everything out_. Somehow, Remus managed to believe him.

* * *

><p>"Morning, boys," said George, when they descended to the kitchen four hours later. The housekeeper did a double take when he saw the stupid smiles plastered on their faces. "Surely it's far too grey a day for grins like that."<p>

They turned their knowing smiles on one another instead.

"Still," George went on cheerfully, ushering them to the breakfast bar and peering out at the garden through the French doors, "the rain's done your gardenias a world of good, Sirius."

"Oh, er - great," said Sirius, as though he couldn't tell a gardenia from a garden gnome. He dropped on to one of the stools and began rummaging in the fruit bowl for a lighter.

Mistaking the action for a more health-conscious hunt, Goerge said, "I can make you some proper food."

"Are you hungry, Remus?" Sirius asked, to which Remus nodded. Their heated kissing had left him starving. Not being used to long bouts of heated kissing further added to his exhausation.

It seemed everyone was getting their way today. George looked over the moon at finally getting to make breakfast for once, and as a result went completely over the top. Most of the food they had to give away to Achilles when George wasn't looking, which made the cat give something close to a meow of pleasure for once in its otherwise seemingly miserable life.

Once they'd managed to clear the majority of their plates, Sirius bit into an apple with a loud crunch, asking around his mouthful, "What do you want to do today?" A bit of juice ran down his chin and Remus was momentarily distracted until Sirius scrubbed the palm of his hand across his face.

Remus couldn't stop _looking _at him. He couldn't believe what had passed. That he'd gone from fuming, to forgiving, to confused, to... togetherness? The start of some actual kind of relationship? It was bizarre, and he was scared that if he thought on it too long he'd come up with another reason why he and Sirius couldn't be together.

It was time to follow Sirius's advice, though. It was time to relax, to live spontaneously. _It is time, Lupin, to cast aside the tea and stupid haircuts and any concern you've ever had for anything remotely mundane, and enter into a world of edgy 'ism's: Hedonism. Liberalism. Exoticism._

Well. The tea he could cast aside metaphorically at least. Life re-evaluation completed, he looked across at Sirius.

"Um. Well. I've got to go see Alice this afternoon."

"Alice?"

"You know, from the magazine."

"Right. Alice," said Sirius, as though he still hadn't a clue.

"But other than that it's up to you."

Sirius nodded slowly, apple crunching. "Well actually, I kind of wanted to show you something."

Remus looked up from his plate. "Yeah?"

"I've sort of been working on some stuff, some music. On my own, I mean, not band stuff. I could do with a second opinion."

"Really?" Remus grinned, suddenly excited. He knew Sirius could write - practically every Blue Stag hit had been his - but he'd never heard anything personal before. The idea that Sirius was willing to share it with him was wonderful.

"Sure," Sirius said lightly. "I mean, if you're going to be my _boyfriend_, you should be the first to hear it."

Remus was sure the grin on his face was a stupid one but, for once, he didn't care. Even when George cleared his throat awkwardly before taking their plates away Remus couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed. He was still nervous, still running over the recent events in his mind, but when he forced Leo and Jake and Max and everything else negative that had bubbled to the surface recently to the back of his mind, he was actually quite happy. That was a rarity in the life of Remus Lupin.

It was Sirius who took him to _Preacher_that afternoon. They went in his car rather than on the bike this time, even though the amount of London traffic they had to sit around in probably used up a lot of petrol.

"Want me to wait for you?" he asked, once they finally managed to pull into the packed office car park.

"I don't know how long I'll be."

"That's alright," Sirius said brightly. He seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood. "You go on."

Remus smiled gratefully, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning across to press the quickest of kisses to his lips. At least, he tried to make it the quickest. Sirius grabbed the back of his head and swallowed his protest with a longer, much more heated kiss.

"Sirius," Remus mumbled against his lips, "your windows aren't tinted."

Reluctantly, Sirius let him go.

"Good luck," he chirped. "If this is actually the kind of thing that requires luck. I don't know. Good luck anyway."

Remus grinned and thanked him and got out, making the trek around the outskirts of the building to find the front entrance. This time it was much easier once he got inside; thanks to his first somewhat confusing visit he now knew where to go. The place was even busier than it had been last time, but he managed to make his way through the throngs of people towards the stairs, opting for them over the lifts which were all clearly packed with business types.

He sort of regretted it once he realised how long the staircases were but, nevertheless, he made it to the right floor, albeit in a slightly unkempt state. Glancing around, panting, he looked for some sort of reception area, but the floor seemed to be buzzing, filled to the brim with people, and it was only his name being called that finally made him move from his place at the top of the stairs.

Out of nowhere, a pink-suited Alice appeared.

"Remus!" she cried, clapping long-nailed fingers on to his shoulders. "Remus Lupin."

He gave her a confused smile back. He didn't know why she seemed so happy to see him. Perhaps Alice just really liked Thursdays.

"_You_are an absolute star. Come with me!" She took him by the hand and all but dragged him over to her desk in the open office space.

No one here had looked at him the other day. Now it seemed as though everyone was staring, and as he glanced around, the smile began to slip from his face.

"What's going on?" he asked slowly.

"What's going - ? Oh Remus, you are funny." Alice dragged a chair over from the empty desk beside hers and sat him down in it, perching on the one opposite and taking his hands, leaning forward eagerly. "Go on," she said. "Tell me how you did it."

He was starting to get nervous now, chancing an anxious smile. "Did what?"

Alice batted at him. "Find out about Sirius Black, of course!" she trilled. She leaned even closer, speaking in a hushed voice. "That he's, you know, _gay_."

Remus stared at her, smile still fixed on his face. Then slowly, slowly, it began to fade. His mouth was suddenly very dry, and he swallowed, hard, in an attempt at regaining the ability to speak.

"What did you just say?" he asked numbly, lips barely moving.

For the first time, Alice's spritely expression faltered slightly. "Come on, Remus. Don't play dumb." She twisted in her seat and rifled around in a pile of papers on her desk, producing a horribly familiar scrap of paper. Remus felt like he was about to throw up.

"How did you get that." It was a statement rather than a question, his voice low. Because there it was. His article. His scrap article. The one he was going to destroy.

"You gave it to me," said Alice, looking worried now.

Shaking his head, Remus closed his eyes tight, opening them only when he'd reached a reasonable conclusion.

_Alright, Lupin, it's just a bit of paper. It was only on her desk. Not a big deal. If only Alice knows, it's not a big deal. Alice won't tell. I can beg Alice not to tell. Or I could lie!_

"Look, it's stupid, it's not even -" When he reached for it, she moved it swiftly from his grasp.

"This is a really amazing exclusive," she said slowly. "You're gonna get a lot of money for this."

He shook his head again. "No," he breathed. "No, you can't publish that. I didn't even mean to give it you, it was a mistake and it's not - it's not even real -"

"Remus -"

"It's a joke, it's all just a joke - Alice, please give it back to me -"

"Remus, it's... it's done, sweetheart."

He stared at her, hand still mid-reach. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist.

"It's done," Alice said again firmly, and all traces of joy had completely vanished from her face. She seemed to be realising what had happened now. The penny seemed to have finally dropped; not that that would make any difference. It was done? How could it be done?

"You don't understand," Remus moaned helplessly, "I wrote it in five minutes, it wasn't even - I wasn't even supposed to let anyone see it."

"It's already been sent to the copy-editor and typed up, it's fine."

Remus suddenly snapped, making her jump, "No, it's _not. _It's not supposed to be published. You _can't_."

"Remus, it's done," she said again, as though he hadn't heard her the first thousand times. "You already signed a contract saying we could use whatever you gave us. I mean, let's be realistic here; we weren't going to not publish it, were we?"

"Oh my God," he groaned. He felt sick. Hot, prickling sickness stirring low in his belly, alarmingly close to erupting. He wound his arms around his stomach, convinced he might actually throw up right there.

"Remus, please tell me what's the matter."

"When's it going on sale?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorr - ? Oh God. Oh shit. He's going to kill me."

"_Who_?"

"Sirius!"

Alice let out a relieved laugh, placing what she probably thought was a comforting hand on his knee. "Oh sweetheart, is that all you're bothered about? Don't worry! We have protection for these sorts of things, you'll be long gone before Sirius Black even -"

"_No_, he's my..." Remus floundered. "_Friend_. He's my friend."

Alice sat back, unimpressed. "Wasn't a particularly friendly article."

He let out a frustrated noise. What part was she not getting?

"You don't understand. Alice, please, you can do something about this. I'll do anything, just - please. _Please_. Don't publish it."

She looked at him with wide, kohl-rimmed eyes, teeth digging into bright pink lips, expression torn. "I didn't realise... it's just, it's as good as published. I couldn't do anything about it now, even if I wanted to. I'm so sorry, Remus. I had no idea."

He looked at her, pleadingly.

"There's nothing I can do," she told him solemnly.

Suddenly, his features suddenly twisted into a glare, the sickness in his stomach morphing into a hot burst of anger. "Like you'd do anything even if you could," he spat, wrenching himself away from her and standing so abruptly the chair almost toppled over. Ignoring her calls, he stormed away from her, racing through the crowds of people to get to the stairs, practically hurling himself down them. If he couldn't stop them from publishing the article, he could at least be the one to tell Sirius.

That wasn't so easy once he reached the exit though. His breath seemed to stop altogether once he stepped out into the car park and saw Sirius, leaning against the car, smoking. He actually let out a little whine, a man walking by him in a suit and tie giving him an odd look Remus was suddenly too terrified to care about.

He strode towards the car at first, forcing himself, but as he drew nearer he became slower and slower, and the last few steps he practically shuffled towards him like a child in disgrace. It definitely didn't help when Sirius turned and gave him a bright look, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth.

"Hey, see, you weren't long after all," he said, but his grin quickly faltered. "Everything alright?"

How was Remus supposed to tell him it wasn't? How the _fuck _was he supposed to tell him?

"Not really." Well, that was one way.

Sirius sucked up the last of his fag before tossing it away, shoving his hands in his pockets and raising his eyebrows in question.

"Sirius, I've done a really awful thing," Remus said finally, quiet voice cracking. "But first, you have to believe me... I swear to God, I never meant to do it."

"Just say it," Sirius said shortly.

Remus's tongue darted out to wet his lips as he forced himself to look Sirius in the eye. "Yesterday, when I was mad, I wrote an article about you. About... everything."

"Everything?"

Remus looked away, clenching his jaw. He nodded. "They're going to publish it."

"Oh. When?"

"Tomorrow," Remus whispered, wincing, as though waiting for a blow to the face.

Sirius gave a curt nod in return. Remus would have been slightly relieved by the apparent lack of immediate fury, if he wasn't aware that this was how Sirius's outbursts usually began. Remus heard him inhale sharply.

"So, when you say everything..."

"I mean... everything." He couldn't look at him. He couldn't.

He waited, and waited, and waited. The cold air stung his face as he stared down at his shoes, shivering, heart thumping madly in his chest. This was it. He'd ruined everything. All those hours they'd spent together this morning; talking, kissing, acting like actual _lovers - _embarrassing as that word had always seemed to him - had now boiled down to this: two grown men staring at each other in silence, faces still and blank as though they'd never seen one another before in their lives.

Finally, Sirius spoke.

"Well, fuck." He barked out a laugh. "That's a bit shit, isn't it, Remus?"

His voice dripped with sarcasm. Remus closed his eyes.

"Of all the people, eh?" Sirius turned then and kicked his car, hard, making Remus flinch. "Of all the fucking people."

"I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_. But just listen to me."

To his surprise, Sirius turned and looked him straight in the eye. He was silent, a fact which made Remus suddenly unsure how to begin. He wiped his damp hands hard against his jeans, wrung them together, scratched at his arm.

"You... you really hurt me," he said lamely. Sirius made an angry noise and started to turn away, but Remus grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back, determined that he would listen. "You know I don't have a fuck load of relationships, and – and maybe I'm not entirely clued up on the etiquette of the whole thing but I didn't expect to turn round and see you go and do what you did and I was _hurt_, alright? I mean, I actually had this ridiculous idea that with me you'd change."

"Oh please. Don't try and pretend you're the one who's been betrayed," Sirius snapped.

"I left and it took you, what? Less than a week to find someone else to bring into your bed? How do you think that made me feel?"

"Yes, I understand that, Remus. And yes, I appreciate that I may have acted like a complete twat. But we've talked about that. It didn't give you the right to go and rat me out –"

"I didn't though, that's the thing!"

Sirius's expression gave nothing away, but at least he was still stood there, listening.

"I was upset," Remus went on, "and I wanted to tell someone but I _couldn't_, I couldn't talk about you to anyone, so I wrote because..." He could feel his eyes stinging, overcome by the exhaustion of trying to explain himself. "Because that's the only thing I know how to do."

Sirius was still watching him quietly, a silent invitation to go on.

"And then I shoved it in my bag and forgot about it and by the time it came for me to give it to Alice, I just – I was in a rush, I didn't look what I was doing, and I gave it her and it was the wrong thing but the point is, Sirius, I never _meant_ to do it. It was a vent, a bloody stupid, awful piece of writing that wasn't even _good_. I was gonna get rid of it, honestly."

Sirius didn't say anything for a few moments. He looked at the ground, legs slightly apart, fingers curling and uncurling. Then he nodded slightly to himself, as though he'd come to some sort of conclusion.

"So what you're basically saying," he said slowly, "is that you've ruined my career by being too fucking careless."

At his words, and to his own shock, Remus was suddenly seized with an astonishing anger. It was a feeling he hadn't even possessed when he'd found Sirius shacked up with Leo; devastated would have been a more appropriate term for Remus's feelings towards _that _incident. But now he felt the sickly, hot sensation burst in his chest before he could even consider trying to stop it.

"Me? _I'm_ the careless one?" He gave a hollow laugh of disbelief. "Who let a journalist know he was queer barely two weeks after meeting because he couldn't keep his hands to himself for one month? Who drinks too much and smokes God knows what and sleeps around with - with scrawny little teenagers from awful clubs, despite being terrified of anyone finding out his huge - his huge _earth-shattering _secret?"

Sirius looked at him, surprise evident on his face.

"It's not me, is it? It's you, Sirius, _you_. You're the one who does all that and yet you have the _audacity_ to stand there and say _I'm _careless?"

He took a step closer, and while Sirius didn't step back, he definitely flinched. Remus's heart was pounding, his voice cracking. He tried taking a deep breath, but it did little to quell the strange feelings of liberation suddenly coursing through him.

"Let me tell you, Sirius," he said lowly, "it takes a certain amount of arrogance to assume anyone gives a damn about whether or not you're sleeping with men or women. You're a bassist in a mediocre rock band. It probably didn't even make the front page."

He fully expected Sirius to snap something back then, or yell at him, or even hit him. It was a few moments before the man finally dragged his eyes up to meet Remus's, and his gaze didn't falter for one moment. Now it was Remus's turn to hesitate.

"Well it's good to finally know what you really think," Sirius said in a surprisingly normal voice.

"I -"

"You know, I actually thought you were different." Sirius shook his head slightly, eyes still locked on Remus. "But I was wrong. You _are _just like every other journalist; telling lies to worm your way into people's lives, and then fucking them over for your own benefit."

"I never lied -"

"No, maybe not. But you kept things quiet, didn't you? Very good at that." He huffed out a small laugh. "And there I was, having the _audacity _to believe that I was anything more... than a bassist in a mediocre rock band." He sneered the last three words out so viciously Remus could practically see the venom dripping from his lips.

He watched silently as Sirius dug in his pocket for his car keys, turning to unlock the door. He paused. "Good though, wasn't it?" he said softly. "While it lasted. Speaking of which, how long _did _it last? Couple of hours? Well, at least something good came out of it. I actually managed to go a whole relationship where I didn't cheat." He smiled bitterly. "Proud of me?"

And that was the moment that Sirius Black got into his car, slammed the door, and drove away. Presumably for good.

With a loud, frustrated growl, Remus dropped on to the curb and buried his head in his hands. Fuck. Fucking bastarding fuck. Everything was ruined, gone. Everything. _And it's all your fault, Lupin, you stupid fucking imbecile. All your fault_.

Everything that had happened over the course of the last few months, everything that had been said, done, felt, experienced, had boiled down to this: ruin. An abysmal mess of a situation that was entirely his fault. And there was no point in thinking it was going to play out like it had over Leo; this wasn't a quick, drunken blip. This was Sirius's life, Sirius's secret, Sirius's _career_. And who the hell would Remus Lupin be to assume that he'd be forgiven over something that massive?

* * *

><p>He got home around six. The train was packed. The station was packed. The streets leading up to his house were rainy and empty and grey. Next door's dog yapped at him as he trudged up the garden gate, the key got jammed in the lock, and the air in the living room was thick with cold once he finally got inside. Exhausted, Remus collapsed on to the couch.<p>

It was difficult to come to terms with really, the fact that he'd be spending the rest of his days here after all. Here, with the broken gas fire and breaking television, the scratched surfaces, the piles of unfinished work, the deadlines, the dull, grey light. Here, the home he'd never grown to love, in the place he'd never seemed to fit, with friends he'd never connected with, who'd never really connected with him. With his parents, with the farm, with Alfie Fletcher's dog kennel where he'd no doubt end up working. Gloucester; pretty little town of the nine-to-five, the mundane. There was no glamour here, no light. There was no Sirius.

It was funny, in a way, how they'd only known each other that short amount of time and yet Remus felt like his life would never quite be the same again, whatever he ended up doing. He couldn't quite picture it right now; he didn't want to. He knew if someone were there to listen to his woes, they'd only tell him he was young. But acknowledging his youth only made it worse; there seemed to be so much more of his life stretching out before him that way.

Opportunities like the ones Remus had been presented with didn't come around more than once. If ever they came at all, you took them or forever regretted it. Sure, he'd pretty much be guaranteed a job with _Preacher_, but did he even want it now?

And Sirius. Sirius with his impulses and his bad moods and his one-night stands. Sirius with his infectious laughter and sweet half-smile and that silly, sentimental tattoo, that piercing in his side. Sirius with his overweight cat and bustling housekeeper, with his secret attic and even more secret vulnerabilities. Sirius, gone in a flash. All of it, gone.

Sirius wasn't the only thing though. What about the rest of the band? He hadn't just ruined one career, he'd ruined four. Five years ago, when he'd started becoming serious about being a journalist, he'd set out to glorify bands, to celebrate them. Not to ruin anyone. Never ruin them.

The thought made him feel like sobbing, or yelling, or wrecking something. He went to put the kettle on instead.

Leaning against the counter as he waited for the water to boil, he stared at the phone number on the fridge, the way he had for the past three months. He could recall vividly the excitement he'd feel every time the phone would ring, the disappointment whenever he realised it was one of his parents, or someone at work, or Alice. He could imagine it now, the swiftness with which he would pick it up. He imagined it so vividly that he could hear it ringing now, echoing around the empty kitchen to mingle with the lonely drops of the tap and patter of the rain against the window.

No. Not his imagination. It _was _ringing.

Remus blinked, and the kettle whistled, forgotten. He let the phone go two, three, four times more before finally registering that someone wanted to speak to him, and it was with a world-weary sigh that he slouched across the kitchen and slowly reached out to pick it up.

"Hello?" he mumbled, waiting for the inevitable shrill voice of his mother or spritely chirp of Alice.

"Hey," came a familiar southern drawl instead, continuing before Remus could even open his mouth; "So I wasn't lying before."

Remus froze, fingers caught in the tangles of the phone cord. He said nothing, closing his eyes instead, defeated. Here it came. Everything Sirius hadn't remembered to shout at him before. Everything he deserved, really. He held his breath, waiting.

Only, the insults never came. Or the shouts, or any of the words Remus really deserved to hear. After a shaky exhale, Sirius spoke one simple sentence, and it was only when the words sunk in that Remus slumped against the fridge, ran a hand through his hair, smiled, remembered to breathe again.

"I really could do with a second opinion on those songs."


	16. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It was snowing in London. Not pretty little flakes pirouetting on to windows in tiny wisps and whitening the pavements just so. It was proper snow. City snow, country folk called it, that stopped traffic and ruined shoes and turned Regents Canal to ice.

Remus loved it. It stopped the whole city in its tracks and yet no one could be blamed. Life was so busy now; it was nice to be able to slow down for once, and to have an excuse to do so.

It gave him more time for moments like this; sitting in Camden Head, drinking hot cider and buttered rum, warmed by the copper pipes beside his legs, biro in hand. He was penning a review, but this was something of his own, not a deadline to meet, and he was going to debate whether to pass it to his editor only once he'd got it completely finished.

_Preacher _was old news now. Still, Alice had been kind enough to give him a referral, and Frank too, after some deliberation. His old friends had actually accepted that it was time for Remus to move on, a rather touching revelation. He missed them sometimes. When it wasn't warm inside and snowy outside, and when everything was going perfectly fine in his new flat in Somers Town so that he was quite unsure what to do with himself, he'd find himself suddenly conjuring up an image of Dorcas sending the photocopier up in flames and he'd laugh to himself in the quiet of his bright little kitchen.

Not that he'd ever go back to Gloucester for more than a visit. Remus Lupin was happy.

Presently, the owner of the 'Head, Tom, came over, wiping down a pint glass with a tea towel. "Get you another, Remus?" he said pleasantly. After four months they were familiar with each other. The cosy pub was one Remus often frequented for his articles.

"Cheers, Tom," he said. He figured he was going to be there a while yet.

Tom took his empty glass and nodded towards the little stage. "Not bad this one, is he?"

Remus's grin widened. "He's alright."

"Fleetwood Mac. Haven't heard this in years," Tom said jovially. "And here's me thinking kids have no idea about music."

He walked away, whistling the upbeat melody emanating from the shady stage. Remus too turned his attention back towards it, tapping his pen in time with the rhythm. It was difficult to actually see the stage as so many people had gathered to watch, but he could hear well enough. With that imperfect, husky voice, and perfect, intricate guitar-playing filling his ears, he didn't really need to see.

After penning a few more quick lines - _natural, in his element, unique _- his drink arrived, the set finished to enthusiastic applause, and ten minutes later someone was sliding into the seat opposite him.

"So go on then, what are we saying? Four stars? Five?"

Remus clicked his pen and set it down, a little smile playing on his lips. "I'd have considered three, but you didn't play 'I'll Follow the Sun'."

"I _always _play 'I'll Follow the Sun'."

Remus looked up beneath his eyelashes and grinned at Sirius, and Sirius grinned back.

"It's my favourite," he reminded him.

"Well, put in a good word for me and I'll include it in the next set," Sirius suggested cheekily, but he had to turn away before Remus could reply; a group of five or so people had approached the table to gush about his set. If they remembered him from before they didn't say. The only words they had for him were ones of kindness and admiration, about how fantastic he was now.

Sirius tutted when they'd gone. "Fans," he said with a roll of his eyes, trying and failing to keep the smirk off his face.

"It's hard being brilliant, isn't it?"

"Incredibly," Sirius agreed. He reached over to grab Remus's cider, sipping it, licking his lips in appreciation and drinking some more.

"I can get you one if you want," Remus offered, but Sirius just shook his head, swallowing.

"I've got to get a move on," he said.

"The meeting about the EP? I thought it wasn't until four?"

"Yes, but I've got to walk you home first _and _leave time in case you want to invite me up for coffee."

Remus raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry," said Sirius, "tea."

Remus laughed at that, not missing the pleased look on Sirius's face and feeling his own heart kick up a beat. Draining the last of the cider, he stowed his notebook and pen away and pulled on his coat, Sirius going to fetch his guitar. Then, bracing themselves, the two stepped out into the cold February snow. Sirius slung the acoustic over his back, offering Remus a deliberately anxious grin as the snowflakes immediately began to paint his short, black hair white. Together, they started the trek up the street towards Somers Town.

Overall, they were taking things slow, and that was exactly how Remus liked it. Since that fateful day in September, they'd apologised and since endured various other slip-ups, but now it was February and the slip-ups seemed to be happening less and less frequently. In fact, things were going so well that Sirius, over a drink celebrating his forthcoming double EP, had subtly suggested they spend Valentine's Day together, outside of London.

That was in a week, and Remus was genuinely looking forward to it. They'd spent Christmas together too, but that had been with the band, including James and his now-fiancée Lily. This time they'd be alone, and it was slightly nerve-wracking but exciting too, as though they'd be reaching a new level in their relationship. At any rate, Remus thought it might solidify things a bit. Neither of them were very sure where they stood with one another yet.

Sirius had forgiven him, that was the main thing. James and Fabian and Peter had too. In fact, rather than damage Blue Stag, the article had done them the world of good. Suddenly everyone knew who they were and everyone seemed to be hailing them as pioneers, like Queen or Bowie, congratulating them on showing "true rock 'n roll spirit" by not caring what anyone else thought. None of the band ever pointed out that Sirius hadn't come out willingly; James in particular loved the attention too much to spoil things. Besides, everyone was happier that way.

It had even helped fix things between Sirius and James. As soon as the article circulated, Sirius had left the band on an impulse but, seeing the good it did to his relationship with his best friend, they'd decided to keep it that way. Fabian's brother Gideon had joined the band on bass, and Sirius was doing what he'd always wanted to; going it alone.

Well, not _quite _alone. Remus religiously attended every gig, just as he'd noticed Lily doing on the tour last summer. He even, as was the case today, occasionally wrote about Sirius in the magazine he now worked for; a comfortable, totally music-centred publication based in St. Pancras, not ten minutes from his new home.

Things were good, and in that moment, walking in the city snow with Sirius, Remus felt as though they could only get better. As they trudged along in totally unsuitable footwear, laughing at their lack of practical attire and transport, he could feel Sirius's eyes on him. He smiled.

"What?" he asked, turning to face him.

Quickly looking away, Sirius shook his head. But then he chanced another glance upwards and, upon noticing that Remus was still looking at him, stopped in the street altogether. Remus's questioning look promptly vanished from his face as Sirius leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

He immediately lifted his hand to touch the patch of skin momentarily warmed by Sirius's lips in pleasant contrast to the chill sting of the snow. He was glad the winter weather had reddened his cheeks in advance, especially when he glanced down at the space between them.

Shyly, Sirius offered him his hand.

Remus nibbled his lower lip to suppress a giddy, pleased smile. "Oh, go on then," he said, linking their cold fingers together. He felt Sirius squeeze back gently. Together, they started up the street again.

It was funny how things worked out, Remus thought then. This time last year he'd been writing about musicians from London, and now he was holding hands with one in the very same place. He didn't question it. He couldn't. It was Sirius who had made it clear to him that there was no point looking back. If you wanted to get anywhere, you had to keep going forward. Sometimes you had to be spontaneous, and sometimes you had to just take things as they came, take chances when they arose. If there was one thing Sirius Black had taught him, it was that there was a first time for everything, and thinking in such a way made the world a much more exciting place to be. Remus was doing his best to remember that.

End


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